The Case of the Resurrected Ghost
by rogueinker
Summary: A prophecy and a desperate man form parts of a riddle facing Minerva McGonagall and her intrepid assistant Madam Pince. With clues paving the way, they race against time itself.
1. Chapter 1

The Case of the Resurrected Ghost

A Minerva McGonagall Mystery

by Rogueinker

Summary: A prophecy and the fate of a desperate man are two parts of a riddle facing Hogwarts own sleuth. With her trusty assistant, Minerva McGonagall follows the trail racing against time with an enemy in silent pursuit.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling. I am only taking them out for a spin.

* * *

Mold and mildew thrived in the cracks and corners. Moisture clung tenaciously to the unyielding dungeon walls. Iron chains, long forgotten, hung limply from the ceiling. The floor, gritty with sand and dirt, lay unmarked by any living object. The room wore its mantle of neglect with stoic casualness; its deserved solitude disturbed only by the unexpected draft whispering through the corridors finding its random way to this most cursed room at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Few knew of this room's true story and fewer still its location. No living entity sought it out, not even for the wealth of knowledge stored in the room's lone interloper - a desk of finely hewned ancient mahogany and oak. It had an indefinable quality that bespoke of secrets best kept to itself. Though the room had sat unattended to by mortal or house elf, dust had yet to settle on the desk's still gleaming surface. Neither were the brass fittings tarnished by age nor loosened by use. The desk defied conventional thought keeping to its pristine condition as if it had only been stored the day before instead of more than four hundred years ago.

The owner of the desk knew of its existence and its place but did nothing to assure its continued survival. Some things were better left forgotten, or at least, ignored to the best of one's ability. The latter approach was preferred by its owner. Through studied ignorance, decade after decade, its owner convinced itself of its nonexistence, conveniently consigning all taint of mortal ignominies to the unforgiving past.

As any sinner can attest to, past sins have a way of resurrecting themselves and no amount of penance can dim the original sin's promise of retribution. The owner of the desk had thought his penance paid by time and earthly torment. One fateful day he came to realize that his penance had only just begun.

Jagged, unkempt nails dug into flesh turned ice cold. The self-inflicted pain was a cruel harbinger of reality. Callus roughened fingertips grasped the edges of the desk seeking more proof of the impossible even as eyes blinked uncertainly long unused to the natural action. Nostrils flared then pinched at the first whiff of air. Skin prickled as blood rushed anew to legs, toes, arms and fingertips.

Dark hair hung limply over a long pallid face that still bore traces of a noble lineage desecrated by avarice and ambition. A pink tongue tentatively explored gums, teeth and lips while saliva dripped unchecked down one cheek. Lying prone on top of his ancient desk, Antoine de Neuvilette stared at the ceiling and screamed once. Then again and again.

In another part of the enormous castle, a house elf heard the screams and went to investigate. It was a blathering house elf that brought the news to the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress of a crazed man locked inside the hidden room crying in anguish, pulling at the chains and pounding on the desk.

Behind his desk, the Headmaster frowned. "Did he say who he was?"

"More importantly, how did he find himself down there?" interjected the Deputy Headmistress. "Do we have a breach in security?"

The elf drew a deep breath to calm himself before answering. "He ... he said ... there he awoke and there he stays. He must, he says."

"I understand and he is quite correct," Dumbledore rose and headed rapidly towards the dungeons trailed by Professor McGonagall and the elf.

"Kindly slow down and explain yourself, Albus," McGonagall said.

"We have little time to lose, my dear Professor. There is only one thing ... one man that can access that room other than myself. Since he is there now, I can only deduce one thing." Dumbledore paused at the bottom of the staircase and looked at his deputy. His expression was devoid of any of his usual cheery amusement. "The Bloody Baron is a ghost no more."

Minerva gasped. "Impossible! That kind of magic smacks of ... of ... necromancy, the darkest of our arts."

"Traditional wisdom would agree with you but there is another discipline which is much older, much more powerful." Dumbledore opened the large doors leading to the dungeons.

"Blacker than necromancy?" Minerva asked following Albus down into the dungeon corridors.

"Who is to say, truly, what is black and what is white? Can there not be a gray area where the best of intentions, when mingled with jaded appetites and overarching ambition, often result in the most horrific of consequences."

"Albus, your tone and subject matter worry me."

"I have lived a long time, Minerva. I have learned not to judge anyone too harshly lest I be the one judged."

They reached an area of the dungeons warded from student and faculty access. Albus changed the wards to accept Minerva. Together, wands ablaze, they stepped down a short series of steps to the lowest levels of the castle.

"What does this gray art have to do with the Baron?"

"The practice of the art cost him his mortal life."

"Indeed? I had always thought he was consigned to his ghostly existence because of an unforgivable crime."

"If it is a crime of unspeakable magnitude to dabble with the natural order of things, then, yes, the Baron Antoine de Neuvilette did commit such a crime." Albus stopped his explanation. They could hear the Baron's wails echoing in the corridor.

"In Merlin's name, what did he do?"

"It is best that you hear it from him, Minerva." Albus' eyes were sad. "All I will say is that he did what he did for the best of reasons. I cannot find it in me to condemn him outright."

"What reason is worth his life, his very soul?"

"Can you not think of one?" They had reached the door to the small room. Emanating from inside were the sounds of fists hitting wood repeatedly. "What would drive you to commit a heinous crime?"

Minerva was thoughtful for a moment absorbing all that Albus had said. "Love. Only love."

"Yes." Albus glanced at Minerva beside him. "The baron paid the price with few regrets but it seems that there is more yet to mete out."

Dumbledore said the incantation to unlock the door. As the door opened, the wailing and violence stopped. Baron Antoine de Neuvilette, now a whole man of flesh and blood, stared at the headmaster and his deputy.

Suddenly, the baron fell to his knees nearly at their feet. His voice was hoarse as he pleaded, "Headmaster, Professor, you m-m-must help me ... help me to die once and for all."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Professor McGonagall's alarm at such a request was plain. The headmaster bowed and raised the fallen man to his feet. In a voice warm with empathy, he coaxed the Baron to calmness. "Come, Antoine, to my office, you need food and drink before we talk."

The baron took a step back. "I stay here. Fate has played its last game with me. I am mortal again and therefore I have the means to make my final choice. If you refuse to aid me, then I shall find another." The baron looked closely at Minerva. "Professor McGonagall, were you in my position, deprived of your love, would you wish to continue an empty existence? Would you let yourself be torn from your heart's desire a moment longer?"

Minerva swallowed hard but nothing else disturbed the neutral facade she presented. The Baron had been a ghost at Hogwarts for almost its entire history. The ghosts were privy to many things and events in the castle but their discretion was a credit to them. Minerva knew exactly what the former ghost was alluding to. She was not amused. "Were I even so inclined as you postulate, I need remind you that we are not talking about me."

"I cannot lay hand upon myself such is the aegis that hangs over me," pointed out the Baron. "Am I expected to now live out the mortal life taken from me? I am out of place in time, culture and age. I refuse this dubious gift."

"You will waste your second chance, Baron, if you -"

"Waste! Not I, madam, nay, not I. I have willingly served here for countless, endless years." The baron stretched his arms wide before fixing a hard look at the deputy headmistress. "Unlike you, madam, I acknowledge my selfish self interest to its fullest. Not I for the conscious deliberateness of self sacrifice. There must come a time when one does what one does entirely for one's own benefit and desire."

"And how many were harmed by your actions, baron, because of your one moment of self indulgence," Minerva crossed her arms. "Sacrifice is a difficult thing, often without fulfillment but I would rather have that than hurt the one ... the ones I love."

The baron was inwardly shamed by her honesty and vigorous defense of her position. Professor McGonagall was a rare woman, indeed. Unlike her, he had not been able to accept sacrifice for its own sake. He had never been that brave or that strong.

"Antoine, please stop badgering my deputy," Albus advised trying to defuse the tension with humor. "Minerva can out debate any one, especially when her temper is up."

"Albus, you exaggerate." Minerva surveyed the shattered man in front of them. A wellspring of compassion grew in her heart for this lost, unfortunate being. If circumstances were different, would she be like him, living on memories and distorted dreams?

"Come to my office, we have much to discuss."

"I cannot leave here, headmaster," said the baron.

"I thought that too but I see no spells about you that would tie you to this place," Dumbledore reasoned. "Only the desk is absolutely bound to this ... this cell."  
The baron remained silent.

It was Minerva who made the decision for both men. "Baron, if you are to stride the halls once more, you cannot do so like that. The children would be more frightened than ever before."

The baron stood mute as his dress and appearance was transformed. With a quick spell and a wave of Minerva's wand, the baron's threadbare clothes became new and clean, absent of the blood stains that had been his trademark for centuries. His long hair was magically combed back and tied with a ribbon. His face though still gaunt and spare was made clean shaven. Antoine looked down at himself. His hand pressed down on his surcoat over his heart where the bloodstains used to be. His hand rubbed absently over his chest.

Albus motioned for all of them to depart. He ordered the house elf to bring sandwiches and tea to his office. Before he closed and warded the door, Dumbledore took one last searching glance inside. His eyes alighted last on the desk, a testament to love and madness.

The door was closed taking with it the light of the living. Inside, the desk gleamed darkly waiting patiently to be used once more.

* * *

Once in the headmaster's office, the Baron de Neuvilette shocked the assembled portraits of headmasters and headmistresses. He bowed low in greeting to them all amidst a cacophony of voices shouting out their dismay and anger.

"Everyone, please, all will be explained in due time. Quiet, now," urged Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall and Baron de Neuvilette took seats by the fireplace. "As you can all see, the Bloody Baron is very much alive."

"Heresy! Blasphemy!" shouted an ancient crone high on the north wall. "He defiles us with his presence. Send him away, Dumbledore!"

"No, Lucretia, I will not. The baron has served his time, if you will. He is no longer the man he once was."

"Decades on the astral plane does not expiate his sins," said a bearded man clutching a worn staff by his side.

"No, Declan, but it also does not mean that he is to be thrown out of the only home he knows of." Albus raised his hands. "Please, please, let the reasons for his actions be our chief concern not the results of them."

The portraits' yells and murmurs subsided. By the fireside, the baron stared fixedly into the flames. He could not blame them for their reaction. In their place, he would likely have been equally outraged. He took the cup of tea proffered by Professor McGonagall.

"The question remains. How did he ... he come back to life?" Headmaster Dippet asked from the west wall. "I thought ghost sentences were for life ... for eternity."

"They are intended to be so," answered Declan. "In my time, it was not unusual to have conditions placed on the sentence. Perhaps such is the case herein."

"It matters not!" shrieked Lucretia. "The longer he stays here the more troublesome that cursed desk will be."

"It has been isolated in the farthest, deepest part of the castle for many decades now, Lucretia. Away from susceptible minds, it can do no mischief," said Dumbledore. He took his own chair by the fire. Instead of tea, a steaming mug of hot cocoa awaited him. "Now, baron, let us hear your tale. And that, perhaps, will give us a clue to your unexpected resurrection."

The baron kept his eyes on the fire as he began. "I was born in Burgundy, the second son of a second son. It was a time when muggle and wizard kind co-existed, even so my choices were few. Neither the military nor the monastery held any appeal for me. I had a scholar's aptitude but the passions of an affirmed libertine. For a time, I worked with my family creating furniture for well paying aristocrats, wizarding and not. The work was profitable but I longed for a challenge."

"By chance, an English merchant commissioned me to build some pieces for his wife. Together, we made an investment in some textiles bought in Lorraine and destined for London. At the age of twenty and nine, I decided that it was time to see what I could make of myself in the world. I accompanied my partner to England. It was to be my first sea voyage."

"The crossing did not agree with my spirit, rooted as it was in the soil of mother France. My partner brought me to a healer favored by the wizarding families of England. There I convalesced from mal de mer and the horrid dampness that is England. For all I despise England, I love it too. For it was during my recovery in London that I met Isabel, my Isabel."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The baron took a deep breath before continuing. "Isabel Parnam was her name. I met her at a gathering hosted by my partner. She had a particular affinity for charms, I remember." The baron undid his high collar. He removed a long chain from around his neck upon which a ring dangled. He caressed the ring as he continued. "I cannot say that it was as love described in poems and sonnets for there was nothing remarkable about her - brown hair, eyes of blue and a pleasant face. I had seen far more beautiful women in Paris. But each time she laughed, my eyes were drawn to her and my heart felt more carefree than it had ever felt. Do you understand? How incredible it felt, feels."

Dumbledore nodded. He looked in his deputy's direction briefly before turning his attention back to the baron. Professor McGonagall sniffed discreetly as did many of the female portraits in the room.

"I danced with her that night. She was unpracticed but learned quickly; her natural grace serving her well. I cannot explain ... why I was so drawn to her. I only know that I was." The baron stopped once more lost in memories. When he continued his voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Our first weeks of acquaintance drove me to seek success where I could find it. I wanted to be worthy of her as a man should be before asking for a lady's hand. I found a merchant who consented to purchasing any excess pieces my family may have. Such a transaction would be beneficial to my family and I would earn a sizable commission. I left for France immediately."

The baron buried his head in his hands. "When I returned a month later, my Isabel was no longer mine. She had married the son of a merchant with whom her father did business; an alliance more than a marriage." The baron looked at Professor McGonagall. "Isabel did not know of my feelings. I never intimated my intentions to court her. Perhaps, if I had gone to her father first ... but too long I waited, far too long."

"The wiser course would have been to leave England and Isabel. Many times I made plans to leave and each time I would find a reason to stay. If only to see Isabel at the market or at another gathering or even in passing on the streets. My resolve to leave her at peace dissolved when I learned that she was unhappy in her marriage."

The baron rose and circled his chair pausing to stand behind it. "I saw my chance to win her for myself. In the end, I killed her."

"What!" Minerva exclaimed. She looked from the baron to Albus and back to the baron again. "You said you loved her."

"I did. I do." The baron looked at the ring again. "I sought her out in secret. To my delight, she returned my feelings. Hope swelled my heart at hearing her words of love for me. We met when and where we could - rendezvous under the moonlight, not so incidental meetings at the homes of mutual friends. Months of bliss and despair passed. Isabel and I agreed to end our hopeless affair. The risk of scandal was too great and I could see the toll our affair brought upon her. I would not hurt her for anything. We parted. I poured my energies into my investments and even attended a few women. In time, I opened a furniture concern and had several craftsmen in my employ."  
"But the more successful I became, the more I craved what could not be mine. One day, I saw her heavy with child, of her husband's seed, visiting friends in town. She saw not my observance. I watched from afar for a few minutes, an hour, I know not. A melancholy swept over me. For days thereafter I could not stir myself from thoughts of her or of what, by right I felt, we should have had."

The baron looked around the office. His voice rose to be heard by all. "Do you know what desperation feels like? Do any of you know the helplessness one feels when reaching for that perfect thing that is always beyond your reach? Every grasping attempt hardens your resolve and your heart. Hopelessness turns to need. Then quiet on cat's feet, inevitable as the rising of the sun, need becomes obsession. Rational thought is turned irrational. My actions hereafter were wrong by all standard measures we believe in, but still, I cannot repent for the reasons behind them were mine own. By my measure I ... I was only seeing to my happiness. Do we not all seek happiness for our present and our future?"

The baron returned to his chair and slumped down into it. The crackling fire captured his attention once more. "The true scholar in me was given free rein over every book, every tome, every treatise I could find for something to use. Poisons, hexes, curses, charms, yes, I considered them all. Strangely, it was my family that led me to my solution. My father owned a desk. It was, he said, the first piece he had ever made and it had marked the beginning of his prosperity. He always referred to it as his beginning and his end. Only later did I discern his true meaning."

"When we were little, my father would hide treats inside the desk's many drawers. With him always present, my brothers and I would be instructed to think of the treats as our hearts desire. Then, with our thoughts firmly set, we would be sent scurrying to the desk one by one hunting for that which was hidden within. I never found it strange that I always found my favorite sweets, each time without fail. I had no cause to be curious as my father was a powerful wizard in his own right and a clever inventor. Many of our own furniture had magical abilities granted to it by his very hands. I thought nothing of the desk's abilities."

"Upon my father's death, the desk was to go to my brother, the eldest brother, but his wife refused to have it. I never learned the reason for her refusal, perhaps, she sensed its power and was properly frightened by it. The legacy then devolved to me. I personally escorted the desk to England where I had by then decided to make my home." The baron laughed ruefully. "Do you know, I ... I even moved into a bigger home so I could have a study to put it in, such was my regard for it then. It became my workplace. I rarely went to the store. I found that my best designs and plans were done on my father's desk. My business thrived and I was forced to hire more workers to accommodate demand."

"It was also at this time that I began to draw landscapes and portraits. Many of them were of Isabel or Isabel and I with our imagined family. It was, I told myself, a harmless outlet to ease my obsession. In dreams and fancies, I could live with her, be with her as I wished. It harmed no one and so I continued. On cold winter nights, I would spend endless hours upon my desk, sketching and wishing for my heart's desire. I ought to have consigned the sketches to the fire but, fool that I was, I lovingly kept them all within the large bottom drawer of the desk."

"It was the last dying days of winter that an idea came to me. In a feverish fit of activity, for three whole days, I secreted myself from prying eyes. I sat upon my desk by sun and candle light drawing plans that I know now could not have come from my own knowledge. As the plans took shape, my excitement grew ever higher. The taste of anticipation and victory was hot upon my tongue. On the fourth day, plans under my arm, I elicited the aid of my most talented craftsman. It was half a month before he completed my design. For his trouble, I gave him a half year's pay and altered his memories."

"Proudly, upon my desk, I put the new device - the size and shape of a lantern, all hard metals, rudimentary dials and small turning blades. To this day, I cannot remember much detail of those first heady days of experimentation. But the heightened feelings of elation and passion from that time will never leave me. On the seventh day, I steadied my purpose and began to prepare for a future with my Isabel. I bought gold to finance our new life and to buy land upon which we could build our home together. On the eighth day, I used the device with the intent to secure my heart's desire for all time."

The baron stopped completely. Small tears coursed down his cheeks. Dumbledore allowed for a few minutes for the broken man to face his inner demons. After the baron had composed himself, Dumbledore asked in a voice, sad and soft, "What was the device, Antoine?"

"The device of my dreams and nightmares," the baron answered. "You have a better name for it now - a time turner."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dumbledore caught Minerva's eye and communicated in that way unique to them his desire for her to abstain from asking any further questions. They were coming to the heart of the story and the listeners had to be patient. Dumbledore knew that the rest of the tale would press hard upon the former ghost. Time does not diminish the pains of memory and regret. It can only add perspective and distance.

The baron sipped his tea and continued. "You are perhaps curious as to how I could have made such a thing. Yes, I drew the plans, had the device built, placed charms and incantations upon it fulfilling its magical essence and employed it for my own purposes. For those acts I take full responsibility. But I have never claimed theoretical brilliance or even divine insight in its creation. The plans and spells arose from the parchment as rapidly as my quill could write or draw. The very speed was unnatural."

"Are you now saying that you were forced to your actions?" Lucretia asked with a distinct tone of disdain. "I find that unacceptable!"

"No, no! I accept full blame for what transpired. I did so then and I do so now." The baron replied in a strong voice. "But the ... the inspiration for the device did not spring from my mind. It was the desk fulfilling my heart's desire as it did my father's desire for fortune for his family. The desk serves its own ends and cares not for mortal consequences. I believe my father went to his death unprepared. He was a man of conscience and discipline. He would not have been so careless as to leave no warning about the desk's power. Upon my life, from thereon it came to my possession, shone an ill-favored star."

"I used the device to go back in time to the point before I left for France. I spoke with Isabel's father and he agreed to our marriage upon my return. I embarked on my voyage with a joyous heart. I made plans to employ my profits for a new home for us." The baron rubbed at his chest. "On the night of my return, there was an altercation at the harbor; thieves come to rob my ship of its cargo. My crew and I fought them off. I was wounded in the chest. I thought it a paltry wound for it bled little from my expectations of such things. At dawn, with only mild discomfort, we sailed back to England. Every day of the journey, cold seeped into my joints and my wound bled more and more, a drop, a trickle, a torrent. We made landfall with me bedridden in and out of consciousness. In my London home, healers eased my pain but the wound had done its damage. With Isabel at my bedside, I vowed I would return and that she was to wait for me. In the last moments of that life, I used the device to return me to the present."

"And what did you find in the present?" Dumbledore gently prodded.

"I took little notice at first but my home seemed shabbier. As I walked the streets to the blacksmith, people shunned me where before there had been greetings from neighbors and acquaintances alike. I was blind to these changes intent as I was to commission the blacksmith to fashion for me a ... a breastplate that I could wear under my clothes. With this I thought to avert the wound that I was fated to receive." The baron shook his head vigorously. "Such is hubris born when man thinks to deceive the Fates. Who does one deceive more than himself?"

"I gave the smith too much gold but I cared not. I only wanted to return and feel Isabel's arms around me. Two days I slept and rested in my home before the plate was ready. I used the device again. I thought to save time," the baron cackled at this. "to return the night of the thievery and that is what I did. The plate did its work and I emerged unscathed. Elated, we sailed at dawn as before. Our second day was marred by a fierce storm. Contrary to the captain's advice, I ordered the crew to forge on. Wave after terrifying wave beset our craft from port to stern. Buffeted by the winds and taking on too much water, our ship ran aground on the Dover coast. Our cargo was lost. With only a small quantity of gold in my possession I reached London, weeks late. All my hardships faded to nothing as I saw my Isabel waiting for me. She convinced her father to continue with the betrothal as planned. And I, for my part, swore that my misfortune was a thing of the past. I would support Isabel as I had promised. I had little gold left but I had my health. I would see to her happiness no matter what work I had to do."

The baron's eyes took on a faraway look. "That moment when a man takes a woman to wife must be heaven on earth. It was for me so when Isabel and I married. The strength of my love paled against the steadiness and faith I saw within her eyes as we shared our vows with each other and all who stood with us that day. She was mine. I was hers and still am."

The baron wiped a single tear away. "But heaven is not for mortals. That is why we aspire to it. I learned my father-in-law's business but the work did not inspire me. I could not say the same for my life with Isabel. Having her in my life, in my arms every night, made the drudgery of day seem worthwhile. We were content until a plague lay a shroud of fear and despair over our town. My aged father-in-law succumbed easily enough. I must confess that his passing relieved me of the tension that ran high between us in the running of the business. I mourned his death but not overmuch. In the early days of the plague I worked many hours remaking the business to what I thought appropriate, in my own way, in my own vision. Assured of no fatherly interference, I was certain I could make a success of the business. My ambition blinded me to the insiduous intruder come settling within the heart of my home. Isabel contracted the plague."

The baron covered his face with his hands. "I hired the best healers. I bought the best potions and curatives. Nothing was more important to me than her. I let the business to ruin as I drained it of funds to pay for more healers, the newest palliatives, delicacies to tempt her dry palate. It was all for naught. For the fates, no matter my efforts, had decreed what was to be. Nearly a year after our marriage, Isabel died in my arms. Her body shrivelled and marked by the plague."

The baron pounded a fist into his chair. "I should have killed myself that night but I did not. Arrogance, that monstrous beast, played tinder to the fires of my defiance. As I kissed my wife's lifeless hand and felt her belly where our unborn lay, no longer nurtured, no longer basking in the love of its parents, I whispered that I would banish our misery, the winds of plague be damned. With fire consuming my heart, I returned to the present for the second time."

The baron grew silent. His audience spellbound by the tale was equally silent.

It was Dumbledore who broke the silence. "Then what transpired, baron?"

"Please, do not ... do not ask me." The baron shifted back and forth with his eyes shut tight. "I cannot live through it again."

"You have done so before and you must again. Continue."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Though Minerva heard the tone of unyielding command in Albus' voice, she could not help but feel pity for the man sitting opposite her. The baron had suffered much and it seemed that there was more to come. Hands clasped tightly on his lap, the Bloody Baron, Antoine de Neuvilette, prepared himself to face his private infamy one more time.

"I came back to a world that I could scarce recognize as my own. My home was unkempt, the fireplace filled with ash and soot. My furnishings so well made were now decrepit, even unsafe. Save for my desk. How unnatural it was, an oasis of elegance in a desert of ruin. That incongruity should have been my first caution to heed reality but my blindness was ever more set in my mind and my heart. A new plan formed. I would go back and take Isabel away, away from the plague and her family business. We would start anew elsewhere. What need did we have for others? I needed no one but her."

"I went to my store with the intention of securing more funds. To my disappointment, I did not find prosperity. In its stead were a handful of workmen laying about the shop and gambling with dice. I asked why they were not working, one worker, the one who made my device, informed me that there was no wood and no sundry materials and so the lathes and benches sat empty and unused. I looked about my once fine shop before dismissing the workers forever. I was further convinced that my future lay in the past. I had to return there."

Fingering the ring in one hand, the baron continued. "I sold my shop for half its true worth and nearly gave away what furniture was for sale. I then sold my home and all its contents, the desk included. With a small bag of gold, gemstones and medicinal potions, I traveled back to the day before the plague made its presence known. I let events unfold as before while forcing Isabel to take the potions I brought back with me. Upon my father-in-law's death, I sold the business, despite Isabel's vehement objections. Her tears and wails stabbed at my heart but my conviction was strong. We had to leave and settle elsewhere."

"Leaving her widowed mother behind, we settled in the country, Shropshire. It was far from the stench of the town and the threat of sickness . I set my mind to the farming life. With my bare hands, I built a small cottage with two rooms and a thatched roof. Isabel never took sick and our babe swelled inside her. I felt then that I had escaped the clutches of fate leaving my destiny firmly in my hands. I discounted the seeds of mistrust sown within Isabel's breast by her disagreement with my decision to sell the business and leave town. The business was rightly her dowry and in her eyes I had squandered it needlessly. We quarreled more and more."

"Dumbledore, please tell the rest," the baron pleaded.

"No, Antoine, it is not my story to tell. You must continue." Albus responded.  
The baron bowed his head. He breathed deeply several times before continuing.

"I tended to the farm and Isabel to the cottage. The intimacy of our marriage disintegrated in the face of our growing animosity. We came together on the birthing of our child. I held her in my arms despite the midwife's ridicule of my presence by my wife's side. I succored to her when her pain was greatest. I wiped her brow and held her hand through many exhausting hours of labor. She accepted freely the tender kisses I offered to her."

The baron inhaled deeply. His eyes took on a haunted cast as he looked at the headmaster and then the deputy. "The intimacy and awareness between a pair is a wonder to behold. Truly, I felt we could surmount anything and anyone. Our quarrels faded away. I could feel the delicate tendrils of trust forming between us once again."

The baron looked down on his hands. "My happiness was short-lived. If the birthing rekindled our love then the stillborn state of our child, my son, sealed the destruction of our marriage."

Professor McGonagall wiped a tear from her eye unashamed of the emotions she was experiencing. Albus took her hand in his. He stroked and squeezed her hand while she silently wept.

"I buried our son. Philip Samuel de Neuvilette was his given name. He seemed sickly and undersized. The midwife had said his chances of survival were small. I returned to the fields and Isabel. Isabel was never the same again. She would rage in the mornings and cry a sea of tears in the evening. I hired a maid to see to her needs. I left for the fields before the sun rose and returned after Isabel had cried herself to an unrestful sleep. I stopped seeking the warmth of her body against mine or craving her touch on my skin. For her part, it was as if I no longer existed. One morning I awoke and Isabel was gone. I looked everywhere but I never found her. Alone, in my cottage, I mourned my wife, my son and my life. A month later Isabel's corpse was found in the river far downstream."

The baron bowed his head. His voice was hoarse with emotion. "I have had enemies but to none of them would I wish my travails. That year as winter held its grip fast on the land, I ... I sought solace in madness. My memories of that time are vague, as if seen through a pane of colored glass. I returned to the present. What I hope to accomplish to this day I am unsure. I went back into time twice more. Each time was worse than the one before. No matter my actions, death, always death, were their result."

The baron succumbed to his grief. Oblivious to his surroundings, his body shuddering, the baron wept. Unable to resist any longer, Minerva wrapped her arms about him and shared his pain.

"I did not know the full story," Lucretia said regretfully. "He has suffered much."

Minerva stroked the baron's back. She grieved for his lost family for she well understood his motivations and pain. "We should stop now, Albus. The rest can wait after he's rested."

Uncharacteristically, Albus' next words were harsh and demanding. "No, he must continue. He will finish tonight, now." Albus rose and physically drew Minerva back to her chair.

Minerva protested. "Albus, what has - "

"You will understand in time. I must do this, Minerva." Dumbledore knelt by the baron. With terse words and no shred of pity, he bullied the man to coherence.

"You are correct, headmaster, I started this and I must finish." The baron straightened in his chair. Dumbledore handed him a towel with which he wiped his face. "On my last return to the present, I found strangers awaiting my return, one woman and two men. It was Rowena, Godric and Salazar. They had come to stop my forays into the past. My journeys were, in Rowena's words, disassembling the fabric of time and events, past and future. To protect the future, I had to be stopped. I remember being blinded by a bright light while explaining ... pleading my need to return. When I awoke, I was here, Hogwarts, in Godric's study. I was tied and magically bound to my chair. For some days they explained their reasoning yet I turned deaf ears to them. Seven days I lasted, until their words penetrated the madness clouding my mind."

The baron's gaze was caught in the flames of the hearth. "I was never fated to marry Isabel, Rowena explained. I was never fated to have children. Isabel's line was meant to produce a significant figure of history one day but that could not happen due to my machinations. Isabel Parnam had to live to a ripe old age. That is what fate had written for her. Godric and Salazar had visited the past to make amends but their efforts were fruitless. Isabel died before her time. My machinations had permanently affected the careful balance of time and events, fate and destiny. There was naught any could do to undo the effects save for one thing - Antoine de Neuvilette had to cease existing."

"In my more lucid moments, I sensed in my heart that all Rowena revealed to me was the truth. She was a true and powerful seer. Her dreams had revealed my part in the discontinuity of time. Somehow, I know not how, they found me. I was haunted by the feeling of Isabel's limp body in my arms as she died again and again. I could not give her my love but I could give her life again. I asked for death by my own hand but such was not to be."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The early wizards and witches knew well that some laws of nature must be respected. Tampering with these laws had dire and oftentimes irreversible consequences. One of these laws applied to Time. To those not steeped in magical lore, Time was best thought of as a wide tapestry composed of many strands that weaved and twined together. The ultimate design of the tapestry was out of mortal purview.

On the tapestry, each strand represented a probability of a future while knots on a strand were key events upon which the forward direction of the strand depended. In this way, a knot out of sequence or one woven in the wrong place could have disastrous effects. One or the other of these mistakes could be undone but, in his misguided missions into the past, the Bloody Baron had committed both mistakes.

"Rowena refused to grant me my death. She was unsure if my death would wreak havoc elsewhere. For days, the three argued about my situation. I know not what occurred between them only that Rowena and Godric were in agreement but Salazar was not. In her analysis, my imminent death would not restore the time strands to their original direction or state. Simply put, my life had become irretrievably connected to the key event of one specific, important individual, Isabel Parnam. Rowena theorized that I had to meet Isabel but I could not form an attachment with her nor she with me. I chose to give Isabel her life, little did I know how painful that gift would be."

"I returned to a more distant point in the past with Godric as my companion and, in a sense, my minder, to ensure my compliance. I met Isabel at the gathering. We danced. We laughed. We talked well into the night. I never spoke the words of my heart as my eyes beheld her at her most glorious for the last time. After the gathering, Antoine de Neuvilette did not return to France for a consignment of furniture. He never set foot on a boat. I simply disappeared from that time and was brought back to Hogwarts." The baron put his ring back under his clothes. He seemed calmer, almost stoic, after his earlier cathartic outburst of emotion and grief.

"Once here I was presented with yet another gift from the fickle hands of fate. Rowena had a vision. Through that vision, she came to understand that if I had a physical death, Isabel's line would never be. For her line to continue, I too must continue on in some form. An existential paradox was the price for my transgressions. Godric and Rowena searched everywhere for a solution. In the end, it was to me that the solution made itself clear. I demanded I be sentenced to an astral life. In that way, my energies could continue to exist long into the future assuring the survival of Isabel's line."

The baron stirred his tea before taking a long sip. "In an astral sentence, one's body was killed while the soul or life force was held in abeyance, neither living nor dying, simply existing. I died with a spear through my heart driven deep by my hand. Blood poured out of my wound as a fountain spewing out water in the local square. I felt my spirit disassociate from my body. As if from a great distance, I saw my body breathe its last, my hand lose its hold on the spear. It was then I began the first day of my existence as a ghost of Hogwarts."

The baron stood and leaned against the mantelpiece. "To allay my conscience, I told Godric and Salazar about the desk. Salazar was particularly intrigued. They brought it back to the castle. As for the time device, I do not know what happened to it. The last I saw of it was when we returned the last time." He sighed. "There, my tale is at an end, Dumbledore, what will you have of me now?"

"I want you to rest, my old friend," Dumbledore rested a hand on the baron's shoulder. "Much has been asked of you tonight. Quarters are being readied for you."

The baron was about to take his leave when Professor McGonagall, who had been lost in thought for quite some time asked a very pertinent question. "If your astral existence was tied to Isabel's line, then the fact that you are no longer a ghost means that the need for you to ... to ensure her line's continuance is gone. It begs the question - What has happened to her line?"

"A very good question, Professor McGonagall, and one I fear we cannot answer tonight." said Dumbledore.

"Another question. Does this mean that the significant event or figure that Rowena spoke of has passed?"

"That is two questions."

"And if the event or the person has not come to pass, why was the Baron allowed to regain his humanity?"

"I stand corrected. Three questions."

"Four, Albus. What does all of this mean for us, for the strands of time to which we belong?"

The headmaster shook his head. "I have no answers for you, Minerva. The only certainty I can offer is that for everything in this life, there is a reason and a time."

Minerva looked pensive. "Time, it is all about time."

Minerva went to bed that night pondering the questions she posed earlier. She could not shake the suspicion that the Baron's story had yet to come to completion or that the desk had been fully explained. She had quite the mystery to unravel and she intended to start on it first thing in the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The next day's Transfiguration classes found themselves doing their homework in class. While not unheard of it was more rare than hippogriffs rampaging across the lawns of the school. Professor McGonagall seemed unusually inattentive to her class. She often glanced at the blackboard behind her which was strange in itself for the blackboard was blank. A stack of parchment sat at one corner of her desk. As the day grew late, the stack increased with every class.

The headmaster entered after the last class of the day had exited. He, too, saw the now perilously high stack of notes. Minerva had her back to him staring at her empty blackboard. Not wanting to startle her needlessly, he cleared his throat loudly. "Professor McGonagall, are you free?"

Minerva looked at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "I am not free as you are well aware of. This ... this mystery is driving me to distraction. I am sure my students have noticed."

Albus gestured to the stack. "Notes?"

"Yes, items that I need to research, unanswered questions and so forth."

"Minerva, you are not working on this alone."

"Of course not, but you are often gone to the Ministry. Correct me if I am not mistaken but you have no intention of letting the staff know about this event, do you?"

"As always you are correct."

"That then leaves the problem to me." Minerva crossed her arms across her chest. Her eyes dared him to contradict her deduction.

"I know that look well, my dear, I will sooner stand in your way as take up the post of Minister of Magic." Dumbledore smiled. "Now, your note this morning said to meet you here after class. What do you need from me?"

"Answers, or at least the route to those answers." Minerva brandished her wand and the blackboard's contents became visible to the headmaster. "Here are the points of connection that I know so far."

On the blackboard were listed : Antoine de Neuvilette, Isabel Parnam, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Desk, the Neuvilette family.

Minerva continued her explanation. "All of these are connected in some way known or unknown at this time. The problem is in how to fit them together so the whole structure forms or indicates a solution. I cannot help but feel that time is of the essence, Albus."

"I agree," Dumbledore perused the list. From his countenance was gone the playful wizard. Standing in that classroom was a worried wizard with brows furrowed in concentration. He was familiar with Minerva's approach to problem solving. When first she came to the school, her methods had puzzled him but over time he came to admire her often ingenious ways. "As I see it, we have all the most pertinent information from the baron in hand so he may be, what is the saying, Minerva?"

"Checked off," she replied. Minerva placed a precise check mark beside Antoine de Neuvilette. "I need more information. We know little about Isabel herself. Rowena left some writings behind but not much. Godric, fortunately, was an avid journalist. I hope to see something in his materials. Salazar, well, I do not wish to delve into his bequests unless I absolutely have to. The Neuvilettes are nearly a blank. I asked Irma to do some research for me. I am left with Godric as my first key, first clue."

"Shall we examine his journals after dinner?"

"That would be ideal." Minerva gathered her things and they walked out together. "How is the castle's newest guest faring?"

"Disoriented is the best description. He will not be leaving his rooms for a while. I have informed Poppy of his situation."

"Poppy?"

"The baron's wound is not entirely healed. He had pains in the night and this morning he showed me the drops of blood marking his chest."

"How unusual."

"In the extreme. There are mentions, past oral stories more fantastic than true I thought, of resurrections caused by wrongs righted and the victims restored. That does not seem to apply in this case."

"Oral histories. Thank you. I shall add that to my research list."

Dumbledore stopped without notice. He faced his deputy, his face solemn. "Minerva, promise me you will not overwork yourself on this."

"But, the baron -"

"As much as we want to help, we cannot and should not overreach our own grasp. Like you I thought of his problem through the night. Unless I am mistaken neither one us had more than four hours of sleep." Minerva nodded. "Rowena's uncertainty concerns me. I feel that the baron's case is more far reaching into the future, our future, than it seems on the surface. We must treat what we find with the utmost care and impartiality."

"No easy fixes then."

"None."

The two ate dinner in the hall. To any casual observer, they would have seen nothing out of the ordinary. But disguised as ordinary conversation, the two professors discussed their mystery.

Much later, Minerva sat in her favorite chair in Albus' private study. Here was complete privacy with no prying portraits or other uninvited guests. On her lap was set one of the many journals of Godric Gryffindor. She had found what she believed was relevant to her problem.

From the journal of Godric Gryffindor, she read:

The chill of winter has left us for another season. I can feel my fingertips again. The children will be off to their homes for a time. Peace and tranquility shall be my dearest friends. Helga and I have a task ahead of us that would tax the patience of a saint. It is fortunate that no students will be about.

* * *

Today, the fifth of June, bore witness to a vision by Rowena. She has been pained by aches of the head. Her revelation voiced as like a spirit unfree that weaves a tale, a moral, a lesson true. Its words were of no sense. To my ears, tangled verse it was, crossed with the twisting, twining strand of truth.

The spirit spoke of many things of the very bonds of time being sundered, a heartfelt atonement before true forgiveness was earned through deepest humility. There was mention of a savior lost in the swirling mists before the winds of random luck and self absorbed redemption put him back to course.

My first impulse was to scoff at this but it had an air only then as will out, that and of the many dreamings since, which could only be true. Again came the strand of time. I warrant her fixation upon it be unhealthy. Time is not one to be meddled with. It will take our combined magicks to set things right.

* * *

Salazar and I agree to disagree on the matter of the new visions. It is our usual resolution to most things. The man is vexing but brilliant. He is an asset to the school. Now, if only his manners were of the more courtly cut. He upsets Helga so. I shall speak to him on the morrow before we leave for London in search of our wandering spirit. Rowena seems certain she may guide us true.

* * *

We have returned chastened not triumphant. The human heart is fragile yet is the strongest driving force in the universe, this I firmly believe. Justice will not be done nor a peaceful resolve kept I fear. Blood must be shed to appease the angry fates. Rowena and Salazar were in agreement on death as the solution and I must match to that though my own heart grieves. Can there not be a better way? I had thought we had expelled from within us the savage that reacts in fear and ignorance, I am witness here to say that we have not.

* * *

Minerva copied the text to a parchment for later review. She scanned the rest of the journal but there was nothing else she deemed important or relevant. She looked to Albus who was flipping through the giant Book of Names. Inside were listed all the magical children in Britain to whom Hogwarts letters were to be sent. It dated back to the time of the founders. "I do not see the prophecy written down. How frustratingly lax. Any luck, Albus?"

Albus turned a page. "No. I do not see a single Parnam or name of similar derivatives in the lists. It was an unlikely possibility seeing as her line surely took on her husband's name." Albus closed the book and rubbed his weary eyes.

"Godric's entry is somewhat useful. There is something to it. I can feel it but the letters are dancing highland jigs before my eyes."

"That is a sure sign that we need sleep. Have a good night, my dear."

"Good night, Albus."

Professor McGonagall placed the journal in its shelf and departed. Albus turned the light off and went to bed. Their mystery would still be awaiting them tomorrow but they had made a good start of it today.

* * *

Author's Note: Godric's entries do have a hidden message. The clues to the cipher keyhave already been given in previous chapters. Anyone want to give it a try? If not, you can wait til it is revealed. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Minerva walked into the library during her morning free period. Minerva had yesterday asked the librarian to do some research on family trees namely those of the Neuvilettes and the Parnams. She wanted to see if any progress had been made.

Madam Pince bustled to her side several rolled parchments in her hand. She laid out one of the parchments on a broad table. "I'm sorry I don't have better information, Minerva."

"I was not expecting very much. Record keeping in those days was very sparse and haphazard. Show me what you have, Irma."

Irma pointed at the graphical family tree as she talked. "Let us start with the Parnams. Isabel Parnam was the only daughter of an herbalist of some renown in his day by the name of Ezra Parnam. He was married to Wilhelmina Parnam nee Stanley. They had another child besides Isabel, a son, but he died in childhood. Isabel Parnam married James Matthias Wilton, a textile merchant of some means. James was a great deal older than his wife - 12 years to be exact. Isabel and James had 3 children - Philip, Elias and Katherine. Elias died in midlife with no direct, known issue. Philip married Anne Stewart and moved to Scotland taking over his wife's family's farm and store near Glasgow. Katherine inherited her grandfather's ways with herbs and became a healer. She married a scribner of Welsh extraction Frank Ardweil who took over the textile business."

"So, the Parnam line is ended, branching off to two new lines Wilton and Ardweil. There is issue for another generation then the Ardweil line disappears. Katherine and Frank had four children. The oldest, Tristan, died in a drunken wizard's duel, with no issue. Grace, the second oldest, married a baker Jonathan Pendry. The second son and third child, Daniel, was widowed early but had one child Nathaniel. The last child, Robert, took the cloth. He died in extreme old age in a Benedictine monastery, no issue. Nathaniel married late. His two sons died in the first world war. The Ardweil line ended with them. Now, the daughter Grace Pendry had one daughter Juliana. I have found one source indicating that Juliana was a talented healer near Argyle, but nothing else of her later life. Did she marry or have children? I don't know."

Minerva pursed her lips. She had known that genealogy tracking was tricky but she had expected better results. "And the Wilton line, how did that fare?"

Pince moved her wand to the other side of the tree. "Philip Wilton and Anne Stewart had two children - Isabel, named after her grandmother, and John. Isabel married a storekeeper named Ruald Lester. The last descendant of that line died last year, a wand accident, I believe. John Stewart's descendants remained in Glasgow. They owned the the Glasgow Glassworks. The company was sold to the Malfoys last year by the last of the Stewarts - Rianna Stewart Macleish who died soon after he sale. So, ends the line of Philip Wilton."

Minerva sat down and rubbed at her temples. She could feel a migraine on the way. "Parnam, Ardweil, Wilton, Stewart - all gone. There must be one line left."

"Excuse me, Minerva? One line?"

"Oh, Irma, just a ... to prove my theory I need a descendant of Isabel Parnam."

"Perhaps, if I knew more of this project of yours, I could fine tune the search."

"It's a small project really, not worth wasting your time on. A pet project you might say." Minerva looked over the tree again tracing the children's parental lines one more time. Her finger stopped at one name. "Juliana, Irma. You said that you could find nothing on her. Did you find a death certificate or notice?"

"No, nothing other than that one source."

Minerva inhaled and exhaled slowly. "She's the one, must be. Irma, could you provide me with a copy of that information source for Juliana Pendry?"

"Certainly, by lunchtime?"

"Perfect. And since she was a healer, can you extend the search horizontally to ... to ... I don't know, scientific documents. Perhaps she worked jointly with another healer on something. Farfetched, but we must try everything." Minerva looked thoughtful for a moment. "Irma, what does it mean when a line is no longer traceable?"

"There are various possibilities. Death is the most obvious. Or a marriage not conducted and recorded and therefore cannot be linked back to the parental lines. Or the descendant line becomes diluted into the muggle population. We have difficulty tracing anyone once they lose their magical abilities."

"So, it is plausible that Juliana married a muggle."

"Or a half-muggle," Pince added. "Or a squib."

"Another possibility. Perhaps Juliana broke away from her family, became disinherited somehow."

"Yes, that could be. The family would cease to record her legacy if they regarded her as dead to them I suppose."

"Hmm, do you know how muggles record marriages, Irma?"

The librarian shrugged. "I have the barest of ideas, Minerva. My second cousin Farley married a muggle. He said that he had to register the marriage at his wife's local court or register office."

Minerva considered these new bits of information. She reminded herself to stop by the infirmary as the throbbing in her head was getting worse. She would ponder the Parnam situation later. "What about the de Neuvilette line?"

"That was easy." Irma rolled up the Parnam tree and laid out the de Neuvilette tree. "Antoine de Neuvilette had no issue, however, he had an older brother Gaston and a younger brother Maxim. Gaston inherited the furniture business. Though not as prosperous as it was in his father's time, he was prosperous enough. His sons sold the furniture concern and with Maxim's descendants became vintners and wine makers."

Minerva gasped. "The Grande Neuvilette brand of wines is theirs?"

"One and the same." Irma nodded. "They began with a small vineyard in the south of France. Over time, they bought out their neighbors and expanded to what they are today. There are two surviving lines in the families of Henri de Neuvilette and his cousin Annalisa Neuvilette Pernoud.''

"For the sake of my curiosity, Irma, what happened to Antoine de Neuvilette?"

Irma rifled through her notes. "Antoine ... here he is. Per the family history penned by Claude Antoine de Neuvilette, one of Maxim's sons, Antoine went to England and apparently died after a prolonged illness. Plagues were quite virulent then. Cholera most likely."

Minerva refrained from answering. "Where did he die?"

"Scotland." The librarian read her notes twice. "Wait, that cannot be correct. He was known to have a partner in London. How did he get to Scotland?"

Minerva became aware of the time. "Irma, I have a class to go to. Thank you so much for the help."

"I ought to thank you. That bit of research added some variety to my day, Minerva," said the librarian with a smile. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Not at present, but I'll let you know. I have to do some thinking."

As Minerva entered her class she said under her breath. "Three keys. Four left."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Madam Pince was used to an orderly procession of days during the week. A library if organized and managed properly literally ran itself. Her main preoccupation during the school term was investigating the old books and manuscripts held in trust at Hogwarts. There were many rare collections and editions that were archived in the school gathered from the founders themselves, from various faculty who contributed over the years as well as the occasional donor. Much of all this resided in two massive rooms in the back of the library. There was a smaller side room which served as a workshop of sorts.

Much like Professor Snape minding his private working potions room, Madam Pince regarded her workshop as sacrosanct. Being a librarian entailed more than cataloging and shelving books, at least at Hogwarts. When not needed in the library, Madam Pince could be found in her work room restoring old materials to as close to their original state as possible, or failing that, preserving the works as best she could. The workshop even had a walk-in vault where the most delicate or dangerous materials were stored until they could be dealt with properly. The room was understandably off limits to students and access was limited to the headmaster, deputy headmistress and Madam Pince herself. It was in her workshop that Minerva found Irma a little after dinner.

"Working late, Irma?" Minerva closed the door carefully behind her.

"I'm close to deciphering the locking mechanism on this book here." Irma put her wand away and pulled her attention from a battered first edition of Unnatural Transfigurations. "What is the point of applying locking charms on books if the owner doesn't make a point to remember the unlocking phrase or phrases?"

"An estate donation?"

Irma sat on a tall stool by the work bench. She rolled her shoulders forwards and backwards to work out the stiffness that an hour of concentration left behind. "The Mandeville bequest. Old Dixon's grandson left quite a cache. Unfortunately, the young man did not know how to unlock any of the books so I'm having a go at them. What brings you to my corner of the castle?"

"More research requests I'm afraid and something else, a mystery." Minerva smiled at the other woman. "You think you can leave Mandeville's hoard for a little while?"

"Something to do with the genealogy research?"

Minerva nodded. "I conferred with Albus and he agreed that you were vital to the team."

"This is getting quite interesting." Irma forgot all about her stiff neck.

"You don't know the half of it. Come on, I need to introduce you to someone. Then, later, I am going to need your help to convince Albus that we need to plan a little trip."

* * *

A few hours later, Irma found herself sitting in Minerva's sitting room opposite the headmaster. She had been dumbfounded when she met the newly living Bloody Baron. Irma could not help but feel a thrill of anticipation at hearing Minerva's plans; the same thrill that was normally reserved for finding a valuable first edition or rare document.

Minerva stood by a blackboard hovering in midair. On it were the same things that had been on her classroom blackboard. "According to the antique letter that Irma found, Juliana Pendry was a talented healer, one born with the natural gift of healing hands. Based on that letter, from one of Juliana's convalescing patients, we have our starting point. That is the town of Kilmartin in Argyle where the letter originated from." With a quick wave of her wand, the word 'Kilmartin' was listed on the blackboard. "That is where Irma and I intend to go."

"I do not see the need for this excursion at this time. We have yet to finish analyzing the artifacts left by Rowena and Salazar. Did you not say that Godric's journal was begging for more attention?"

"Albus, given what we know and that we both agree that time is of the essence, I feel very strongly that of all the questions I posed, only one is absolutely paramount. That is the question of what happened to Isabel's line that caused the baron's resurrection. We already have a fairly good idea of what happened in the past from the baron. Now, we need to know the present. One possibility is that the line died out. If it has, then does that mean that the significant figure has already emerged? If not, then why not and will that non-event change our future?"

Albus opened his mouth to speak but Minerva pressed on.

"Going on the supposition that a recent death triggered the baron's transformation, Irma and I consulted the obituaries for the last week both in the Prophet and the registrar of wizarding deaths maintained by the Ministry and cross matched the information against the wizarding genealogy listings. No individual deceased in the last week was, on the surface, related to Isabel Parnam. I have a suspicion that Juliana's descendants are muggles now."

Albus' eyebrows rose at this new possibility.

"I did a very cursory review of muggle obituaries in the Argyle area but that doesn't help us at all because we have no way of recognizing a Pendry descendant," Irma clarified.

Minerva nodded gratefully at her cohort. "So, you see, Albus, the only way to continue on is to go to Kilmartin. We may be to able to pick up the trail there."

"And after that where to?" Albus tapped his fingers on the armchair. "This ... trip has the markings of a quest."

"We have many questions and barely any answers. Where the trail leads, we ought to follow." Minerva looked earnestly at the headmaster. "I admit my reasoning is based on the slimmest of evidence and assumptions, but ... but, at this point, it is all we have."

"I am not questioning your reasoning. My concern remains where it has always been, on the prophecy." Albus looked at Irma. "Irma, this is a portion that we have only a vague understanding of. What is obvious in Rowena's writings is that her vision, her original vision, is tied to a larger prophecy. That prophecy is not written in any material that we have available. Because we do not know it, I am ... worried that we will affect the prophecy unknowingly."

"Albus, we can affect the prophecy by something we do, as much as if we do nothing at all."

"A valid point."

"So, you'll teach my classes for a few days?" Minerva probed.

Albus gave in. "You have four days after which I want both of you back here. No matter what you find. And no risk taking, Minerva. Irma, I look to you to be the voice of restraint if Minerva becomes too headstrong. Is that understood, ladies?"

Minerva and Irma nodded agreement in unison.

* * *

Albus knocked on Minerva's door very early the next day. Minerva answered the door still in her night attire.

Albus quickly took in her disheveled appearance as well as the rather sensual burgundy nightgown she wore. While the gown draped upon the floor and was certainly not immodest, it did hint at the figure underneath. "Did I wake you, Minerva?"

"Not exactly. I had just got up." Minerva ushered him in. "Irma and I plan on an early start."

"The two of you loose upon an unsuspecting world. My permission may have been granted too easily."

"We need to do this. You know I'm right and -"

"Minerva, please, I did not come here to argue." Albus raised his hands to stop her protests. "I came to give you this." He held up a gold necklace. A small gold heart dangled upon it. "It's a special alarm. Should you ever want me you need only hold it in your hand and say my name. I and Fawkes will attend you."

Minerva could not decide whether to be more delighted or more puzzled. "Why a ... a heart?"

"Why not?" Albus walked behind her and wound the pendant around her neck. Minerva gathered her long hair to the side to give him better access. "It would seem like the natural thing for a woman to wear."

"Yes, yes, of course, very natural." Minerva fingered the heart pendant as Albus fastened the clasp. She could feel the warm wisps of his breath on the back of her neck. Her own heart strangely enough was beating far too fast for so early in the day.

"If anyone inquires, you may say that it is a gift from one who cares greatly about you. It would not be a lie." Albus managed the clasp and moved to face her again. His gaze followed the gold chain to the pendant nestled just above the hollow between her breasts. He cleared his throat noisily and transferred his eyes to her face. "It suits you."

"Thank you, Albus." She looked up at him. "I'll return it as soon as we come back."

"The pendant is yours. Think of it as an early birthday present."

"My birthday was last month."

"A late birthday present then." Albus' eyes fell on her lips before drifting back to her eyes. "I only want one thing from you."

"And that would be?"

"A promise. A promise to be very, very careful. Never forget what you have there and use it when you need to. Do you promise?"

"I promise. I won't forget."

"And you'll come back in four days?"

"Not a day longer."

Albus stepped back and straightened his robes. "Well, very good. I'll see you off at the gates in an hour." He was about to close her door when some imp inside him made him say, "By the by, Minerva, I hope you're packing something more substantial than that gown, fetching though it is. I wouldn't want you to get a cold."

He closed the door shut but not before seeing the first hints of a blush on Minerva's face.

* * *

Author's Note: There is a touch of romance in this chapter. The story though is primarily a mystery. The romance will be around but it will not supplant the mystery. Madam Pince is one of the least used characters in the book. I like to think that there is more to her than just minding a library. The quest begins. 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Professor McGonagall and Madam Pince apparated into Kilmartin village before dawn in the best semblance of muggle clothing they could muster - pant suits, good walking shoes and light coats. Though the village square was deserted, they kept their hands in their pockets clutching their wands. It took them only a few minutes to find their lodgings, the Kilmartin Hotel. The bed and breakfast establishment was a whitewashed, two story building with an aura of easy welcome about it. It was situated in the heart of the village and so was deemed an ideal choice for a base camp.

The night clerk greeted them cheerfully. "Good morning, ladies, me name's Jamie. Are you here for rooms?"

Minerva smiled back happy to hear a genuine Scottish brogue again. She pulled out a credit card from her purse. "Yes, do you have a suite available?"

"Yes, I do." Jamie turned the register book to a new page. "If you could sign in, here. I'll get your keys."

Minerva and Irma signed the register both listing their home addresses as Hogwarts Academy in the Highlands. Jamie deposited two sets of keys on the counter. "If you give me the keys to your car, I can unload your luggage."

Irma and Minerva exchanged sideways glances. Irma answered for both of them. "That's quite all right. We were ... were escorted here by a relative." She held up her own overnight bag. "We travel light as you can see."

"Of course. If you would follow me, I'll take you to your rooms. This way please."

Minerva and Irma followed Jamie up the staircase. Their room was unusually roomy with a bedroom, bath and a spacious sitting room.

Stoking a new fire in the hearth, Jamie asked, "You must be tired having such an early journey. Would you like breakfast sent up? The kitchens are closed yet but I can manage some tea, toast and preserves."

Minerva laid her bag on the sofa and was discreetly studying the room. "If you could, that sounds wonderful. We skipped breakfast, you see."

Jamie left with assurances of returning with breakfast shortly. Irma laid out her notes on the desk in the sitting room.

Minerva peered out the window. She surveyed the surrounding buildings. "The church is across the street and Kilmartin House is right next to it."

"We have a few hours til they open." Irma experimented with the ballpoint pen and pad of paper she found on the desk. One could not very well use a quill in public. She drew a few squiggles on the pad getting used to holding the pen.

As she stood by the window, Minerva's hand subconsciously stroked the pendant. "I also see a pub, an apothecary and a stationers."

"Oh, good. I'm going to buy several of these, uh, pens before we go back. Much smoother than a quill and no ink blots to be careful about."

Minerva sat on the sofa removing her shoes. She laid back and closed her eyes. "Irma, thank you for coming."

"Tosh! Anything I can do to help, I'll do." Irma looked up from her doodling. "Minerva, I get the impression that we are racing against time."

"Your impression is correct."

"How much time do we have?"

"We don't have a definite time period. It is better to say that we are in need of as much information as we can find before something else happens."

"What could happen?"

"Are you familiar with the theory of interdimensional displacement?"

"I understand the mechanics and theories behind strands and knots and how certain rules apply to them."

"Albus and I concur that the baron's resurrection is or was extraordinary, unplanned as far as actual events. So, it is a factor that is affecting or could affect our strand, our time period." Minerva covered her eyes with her forearm. "If we are to do the least damage to time, we must curtail our actions to a very small window of time. I calculate that window to be a week at most. Whatever effect the baron's resurrection will have on our time will or should be revealed soon, if the rules are correct that is."

"If? If they are correct?"

"Nothing is perfect. Albus explained to me that prophecies have a way of disturbing or changing the knots on a strand. It is one reason why the true nature of prophecies are known only to a few people at a time. As for the rules, Albus says to treat them as guidelines not absolutes."

"In other words, we are working blind."

"Absolutely."

* * *

At nine-thirty in the morning, Minerva and Irma positioned themselves at the door of Kilmartin Church. The churchyard had grave sites dating as far back as the 1300s. By their estimation, Juliana Pendry lived in the 1300s and died sometime in the early 1400s. If Juliana had lived in the area, the church records and the graves may yield critical clues. The vicar led them to the oldest grave markers which were housed in a mausoleum next to the church. As the vicar went to check what records he could for any mention of the Pendry family, Minerva and Irma examined the markers intently. Discreetly, they would cast reveal spells to see if the markers had any hidden magical attributes. 

A half hour later, Minerva looked up from the marker she was studying. She heard Irma shouting excitedly. "Minerva! I found something."

Minerva found the librarian making a quick copy on to parchment of the detailed engravings on a stone marker four meters in height. At the top was a fading engraving of a ship with a cross on its sails. She peered closer and could not find anything unusual about it.

Irma took her wand and pointed at a small drawing near the base of the marker. "Here, Minerva, do you see this symbol - three triangles one inside the other with a star outlined over them?"

"Yes, what does it mean?"

"It's the medieval symbol for a healer, a magical healer." Irma looked around them making sure they were unobserved. "When I cast a reveal spell, this happened." Irma flicked her wand and cast her spell. "Tell me if you recognize it."

The symbol glowed with a dim blue aura. The aura crept up the marker. Foreign words appeared on the marker in glowing blue script. Minerva watched entranced. She recognized some of the words. "It's in Gaelic, old Gaelic."

Irma cast a quick copy spell to transfer the script to her notepad. "Can you read any of it?"

"I'm not sure of my translation skills, Irma. From what I can tell it's a message."

"A message?"

"Yes, it refers to a location the ..." Minerva squinted then recoiled as if in shock. " ... the burial place of Juliana Pendry."

Irma gasped beside her. "Oh, my!"

"This marker was made by her son Andre de Sauvignon." The script was fading quickly. Minerva traced a strange drawing near the bottom - seven concentric circles and in the center was some kind of hollow indentation like a cup. "This symbol here represents the location somehow."

Irma peering over Minerva's shoulder focused on the symbol. "It's familiar. I've seen it before but where?"

Minerva looked around them. Her animagi-influenced hearing heard the vicar returning. She made to stand in front of the marker.

The vicar, Mr. Hilliard, bustled over. "I'm afraid, ladies, that our records show no entries for a surname of Pendry."

Minerva feigned disappointment. "I see. That's too bad but thank you for looking, Mr. Hilliard."

"I see you found one of our tourist magnets, there." Mr. Hilliard motioned to the grave slab.

"Really?" exclaimed Irma.

"It's a bona fide marker made for a Knight Templar. See the galley and the Templar cross on it." Mr. Hilliard informed them. "We know that some Templars came from France perhaps sailing through Loch Sween until they reached here."

"I didn't know that. How interesting!" Irma said truly surprised.

"Kilmartin isn't as well known as other places in Templar history. A group of them stayed in this area in secret for seven or eight years after escaping from France. The last trace of them was just after Bannockburn when they fought alongside Robert the First."

"Last trace?"

"Yes, they disappeared, reasons unknown. The prevailing theory is that they went to Roslyn and settled there instead." Mr. Hilliard provided.

Minerva asked, "Where were these markers found originally?"

"I don't know exactly. They were originally in the graveyard here but they didn't mark actual graves. We believe that they were originally elsewhere and at some time in the past, the markers were brought to this church. About ten years ago, we had them brought inside the mausoleum for preservation purposes."

Minerva nodded imperceptibly to Irma. It was time to leave. Minerva shook hands with the vicar thanking him profusely for his aid. With renewed purpose, Minerva and Irma left the church headed for Kilmartin House which housed the local museum. Irma racked her brain trying to remember where she had seen the circular symbol before.

They had found Juliana Pendry and now the trail beckoned them onward final destination unknown.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The Kilmartin House Cafe was cozy and rustic with wide oak beam trusses lining the ceiling. Minerva and Irma could not resist the cafe's engaging atmosphere. Besides, after the revelations in the churchyard, a chance for refreshments was very welcome indeed.

Minerva smiled up at the waiter. "Two Irn Brus, please."

"Irn what?" Irma asked.

"Trust me."

Irma looked over the short menu. "The raspberry buns sound delicious."

The waiter grinned. "Yes, that they be. Two for you, ladies?"

Irma nodded her head. She perused through the various pamphlets she had picked up at the entrance. One pamphlet displaying a map of the various archeological sites in and around Kilmartin caught her attention.

As soon as the waiter was out of sight, Minerva opened Irma's notebook and took out a pen. She tore one blank sheet off to use for notes. She turned to the page where the Gaelic message was copied. Her mouth moved as she read the message under her breath.

Irma, too, made comments under her breath. "I never knew there were so many archeological sites in this area. Over a hundred fifty, it says here."

"Remember, we only have four days," Minerva added. On her sheet, she had jotted down the words "Lady of the Shores" and "gaidheal."

"If I can only remember where I've seen that symbol before. Prehistoric, I'm fairly sure," Irma shook her head. "Making any headway with that?"

"It's very ancient with references to Celtic lore and intended only for a wizard or witch to recognize and understand."

"Her son, Andre de Sauvignon, was no squib. That's certain."

Their order arrived. The two ladies ate while they continued to study their materials. Irma racked her brain for any knowledge of prehistoric Scotland. On the map, Irma crossed off sites that she was sure did not fit within a prehistoric time line. Argyle and the area around Kilmartin was very much a population center with strong druid cultural influences. The assumption that the grave site was in the area was a near certainty but finding it, well, that could prove tricky.

"I have it, Irma, a rough translation," Minerva said quietly. Minerva leaned closer to Irma and began to recite softly just above a whisper. "The message is ... "

In this hard earth of Alba,  
She lays warm, favored by the Lady of the Shores,  
Loving mother, loyal wife, warrior true.

Enlightenment awaits.  
You guardians of fate, wielders of light.  
Speak caution, gaidheal, say truth.

The way is her doing, her right,  
By blood, by birthright, by gift,  
Cloaked in mists of far memory, shadows, dreams.

Be warned, destroyers of destiny,  
The hands of protection and the portals of death,  
For they guard her rest, her wending way.

Irma gaped at her. "Minerva, what have we gotten ourselves into?"

Minerva's eyes were alight with mischief. "A quest! And a connection to Rowena's prophecy. It's a slim connection but it's there."

"Yes. The references to destiny and fate is obvious. What is a gaidheal?"

"It means a ... a speaker of Gaelic. There were many dialects back then but, even so, there was a basic root of the language that all speakers would understand." Minerva explained. She slid her note page towards Irma.

"Blood, birthright and gift can only refer to her being born a witch." Irma smiled. "The ancients used to say that the druids cast light in their wake. Since most druids were truly wizards and witches that too points to magicians. Alba is an old word for land of the Scots. What about Lady of the Shore?"

"I strongly believe it refers to Brighid or Brigit who was one of the three goddesses in Celtic folklore. She was the goddess of fire. She protected healers, poets and craftsmen. Very apropos in this case."

"The son has a bit of the poet in him it seems." Irma observed. "First part is a lovely tribute to his mother."

Minerva's expression was grave. "It is now obvious. Juliana Pendry didn't disappear, Irma. She hid because she had something to hide."

"Something or someone, Minerva. The lines about her right, her blood, her birthright and her gift are too personal to my mind. She was hiding herself and her family had to know." Irma made more notes in her notebook. "Allying with the Templars makes sense if she felt that she needed protection. The Templars had the means to protect her."

"Yes, to protect her from the destroyers of destiny, if I'm interpreting the last stanza correctly."

"The prophecy was known to others?" Irma asked. "How can that be?"

"It's possible. All those trips the baron embarked on, perhaps, something else was changed that we are not yet aware of."

"Destroyers of destiny seems to be in direct opposition to guardians of fate. Two opposing forces after the same thing. But what, what is it?"

"You said it before, Irma, Juliana was protecting herself or in other words her line. Somehow she knew that one day her line would produce a historically critical descendant."

"But how did she know? Did the Baron intimate something of the kind when he spoke to Isabel? Or ... or was she openly pursued by whoever?"

Minerva shook her head. "Our questions outpace our answers, spiralling ever outward. We need to find her grave. The word 'way' is mentioned twice and in such a well structured riddle, two mentions is suspicious. 'Wending' indicates proceeding. It is as clear an instruction as we are likely to receive. We find the grave and that will lead us on our quest.

Irma raised an eyebrow. "Minerva, I believe you are enjoying this whole thing a bit much."

"And you aren't?" Minerva returned the eyebrow.

The two women laughed softly in complete understanding.

For the next two hours, Irma and Minerva appraised every exhibit and artifact in the museum with great care. They concentrated on artifacts and presentations dating to the approximate time of Juliana's time. Not finding any useful information, they extended their search to the times immediately before and after Juliana's time period. Again, there was no success. Their last resort was going further back in time.

Energies flagging and spirits low, they set upon one of the last exhibits. It concerned the earliest time periods about 5000 years ago. A photo, close up, showed vividly a series of cup and ring images marked into hard rock.

Tamping down nervous excitement, Irma compared the copy of marker figure to that on the photo. "Remember, I said that the symbol was familiar, Minerva?"

"Yes." Minerva looked about but they were alone in the area.

"I saw it years ago in a book about primitive henges and religious sites." Irma said a spell and a holographic image of the marker image appeared in the air. Irma moved the floating image beside the photograph. She peered closely. "It's identical, Minerva." Irma's voice quivered. "It says here that these are from rock formations in Achnabreck."

"Does not sound familiar to me."

Irma opened her map and looked for the site. "It's south of here, far south."

"Think you can find it in the dark?"

"Excuse me?"

"We have our first point in the quest and we are going there tonight."

"It's quite far. How do you propose we get there? Have you ever driven a muggle auto ... auto-mobile?"

Minerva snorted. "Of course not. However, I do have two shrunken brooms back at the hotel. Under cover of darkness, we are going to find Juliana's grave."

"I take it back. You're not enjoying this. You areobsessed." Irma said. "Let's see if we can find a more detailed map. No sense bumbling around in the dark."

"As soon as it gets dark, we start flying." Minerva traced the photo with one finger. "Juliana is leading us forward and we have to follow. For her sake, the Baron's and, just maybe, for our world."

* * *

Author's Note: Hmmm, the plot thickens. What do you think will be found at the burial site? Has Albus been idle all this time? 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Albus Dumbledore believed in doing his duty even if duty conflicted with his personal desires, feelings and preferences. Tonight, as he gazed at the students eating their dinner, Albus knew his duty was clear. He had to keep up appearances.

He forced his lips to a form a small smile; his eyes to look more alert than they had been all day. Dutifully, he ate his meal though every bite was tasteless as paper. When his glance lingered to the chair lying empty beside him, he mentally repeated to himself that an entire day had already passed and three days really wasn't that far away.

"72 hours to go," Dumbledore murmured.

Professor Flitwick turned his head at the sound. "What was that, Albus?"

"Nothing, Filius, "

"So, how are you enjoying substitute teaching?"

Albus smiled his first genuine smile all day. "Surprisingly pleasant, Filius. I did not realize how much I missed teaching."

"I am sure that all the students are on their best behavior."

"For now," Albus chuckled. "I hope the novelty does not wear off before Minerva's return."

* * *

The lady being referred to was at that moment sharing an indulgence. Two whiskeys neat sloshed in their glasses as Minerva and Irma toasted to a good hunt.

"Courage and good providence," Irma said.

"To the next clue and success," Minerva took a healthy sip.

"It's seven now. Shall we leave at about eleven?" Irma asked leaning against a pillow set on one end of the sitting room sofa. Her notes lay on her lap. "By my calculations, we should reach Achnabreck in less than 2 hours."  
"1 hour. We are not using school brooms."  
"We're not?"

"No. We are, ah, evaluating some new models for the Nimbus line."

"Do I want to know how you arranged that?"

"No."

"I am not the best of flyers, Minerva." warned Irma.

"Not to worry. These are not racing brooms but courier brooms. Speedy but utterly safe."

"You said evaluation did you not? Are these prototypes?"

"Working prototypes. One could execute corkscrew spins through flaming hoops and be completely under control, or so I'm told."

Irma looked sharply at the transfiguration mistress. "Minerva -"

"Milosh assures me that they are completely safe. I trust him absolutely."

"That would be Milosh Dvorak owner of Nimbus, Inc?"

"The very one."

""Does Albus know about this ... this commercial opportunity?"

"I would rather not say."

* * *

The portraits in the headmaster's office were rarely at a loss for words. Many of them had been in their near perpetual graphic existence for many decades. They had seen many things and were too experienced to be frightened by most things. However, the ancient strongbox lying on the headmaster's desk was most definitely not in the most things category.

The cabinet was old, older than the castle. It's magic protection extended to the very grain of the wood. In the magic world, anything old had to be treated with respect because age did not mean a decline in influence or potency. No, the general rule of thumb was that age was to be respected and extreme age was to be feared. As one, the portraits averted their eyes as Albus gently opened the lid. A few of the portraits plugged their ears with their fingers while others forced themselves to sleep.

The headmaster scanned the contents of the cabinet with a critical eye. Several dozen opaque orbs lay inside piled one on top of the other. Though dusty and innocuous, the orbs drew the eye. The cabinet and the orbs were Rowena's bequest to the school and only the headmaster or the deputy headmistress had any access to it.

Rowena Ravenclaw had a known antipathy towards journals and parchment preferring to keep her thoughts within these crystal orbs. Unfortunately, she did not employ a straightforward labeling method. Albus had devoted several hours to simply listening to various orbs picked at random. Sifting through Rowena's observations whether mundane or brilliant was time consuming. Unfortunately, he could not trust the task to anyone else.

Though Godric Gryiffindor and Salazar Slytherin had been far better known than Rowena Ravenclaw her skills were formidable and her male counterparts were justly appreciative and intimidated. She was not the idealistic diplomat as Godric was viewed nor was she the artful manipulator that Salazar embodied so effortlessly. No, she was a realist - singular in purpose, nearly cruel in her pragmatism yet always unflinchingly fair.

Albus removed an orb from the cabinet and carefully laid it on a holder. He tapped the orb twice with his wand before settling down into his chair for what promised to be a long evening.

After a few minutes of silence, the long ago voice of the greatest seer of the wizarding world drifted through the office - soft, naturally rhythmic yet carrying the sharp edge of authority. After a section describing the various research and topics that Rowena was currently investigating, Albus was startled to hear other voices.

One voice, a man's, was deep almost guttural and decisive in tone. "I do not see the difficulty. We need eliminate his contamination of the continuum. Of this we are agreed."

"Murder I shall not condone. We must tread carefully until more knowledge comes to light." This second male voice was of softer timbre yet the speaker's absolute conviction was unmistakable.

"Then be it as you say! Naught will we do. Upon this prophecy's fruition our corpses shall be dust and ash. Therefore, what care do we need to expend now?"

"Great care and even greater diligence, Salazar," Rowena's voice joined the conversation. "Much needs to be undone."

"It has been five days, Rowena, Neuvilette remains crazed."

"His will has long been harnessed to his desires. It shall change and his mind will be clear to reason. We must exercise patience."

"Then what are we do, Rowena? We shall need more than the three of us and one of that time device to complete our mission." asked the other voice. A voice that Albus deduced to be that belonging to Godric Gryffindor. "I do not agree that ridding ourselves of Neuvilette is the answer yet we must act. There were three families killed today near Kent. As they slept, their homes were set aflame. Swords and blades greeted those attempting escape."

"Our course is one. Neuvilette is the cause of all this. Kill him now I say." Salazar urged.

"No, Neuvilette is merely the unexpected catalyst. This ... conflict with the mundanes shall not end. They fear our kind and always will." Rowena said. "Fear will drive the most docile of animals to mindless ferocity. Envy shall stir hate and intolerance in the sweetest of dispositions."

"Then we will fight back. We have grown soft -"

"We shall be no better than they." Godric interrupted.

"Unlike you, I do not advocate hiding in plain sight. We have a place in this world and I shall not surrender it!" The sounds of glass breaking punctuated this declaration.

Silence followed. Then Rowena sighed. "Peace, Salazar. Let reason stay your hand. I have witnessed prosperity for our kind in the midst of war and turmoil. We shall survive. Let us address our immediate concern - Neuvilette."

Godric spoke. "Helga shall have returned in two weeks. I shall inquire on two or three others to aid us."

"Nay. We alone shall be sufficient."

"We cannot be. There are many strands to investigate and knots to displace and replace."

"You are correct, Godric, there are a great multitude of possibilities affected. However, we will repair the origin and trust in others to see to the rest."

"Others?" Salazar asked in a low voice.

"Only those in the future can decide how best to affect change. We must trust that they will do what is best."

"That strategy seems imprecise and prone to folly," Salazar said.

"I admit to great misgivings myself, Rowena. This matter is of such import that leaving its disposition to mere chance, to fate, is ... is unfathomable."

"Fate is not nearly so capricious." Rowena replied. "Even with the prophecy we know too little. To assume a time and place for the denoument is ill advised. Our tasks must be carried forward by witches and wizards of other times, other strands."

"How shall we be certain that they will know what to do, what to expect?" Godric inquired.

"I do not intend for our descendants to be without some guidance."

"What kind of guidance?"

"I am uncertain the form such will take. I need think well upon it." Rowena admitted. "But now we must deal with the baron for I sense the darkness coming and quickly."

The voices ended. Albus Dumbledore sat stock still. His heart hammered in his chest. His mind reeled faced with the realizations that had dawned upon him like sunbursts in the dusky twilight.

Sensing his master's need, Fawkes flew to him. He rubbed his beak against Dumbledore's arm. Around the phoenix's neck was wrapped a golden heart pendant. Like its twin, it was warm and comforting to the touch. Should its twin be in jeopardy, the phoenix would know first then its master. With the evening's revelations heavy on his mind, Albus caressed the pendant in his palm taking some comfort in knowing that Minerva was safe.

* * *

Kilmartin lay quiet. Its quaint streets were empty of whizzing cars and anxious pedestrians. While most lamplights shone brightly along the street, four lamplights in the vicinity of the inn were conspicuously dark.

"Definitely handy." Minerva pocketed the put outer she had borrowed from Albus. Behind her she could hear Irma rustling getting herself comfortable on the new broom. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be. Onward!" Irma's firm grip on her broom handle was in direct contrast to the optimistic bravado in her voice. She was determined to see this quest through to the end fear or not.

The two ladies levitated. On the count of three, they flew out of the open window of the inn and into the inky blackness.

* * *

The headmaster sipped his hot cocoa. Though it was late sleep was not foremost on his mind. He had to find out what he could about the prophecy. And that meant listening to as many orbs as he could. With a growing sense of urgency, he calmed his mind and heart. He picked an orb randomly and began to listen.

Rowena's voice filled his ears once more. Unlike earlier, her voice now was marked with weariness and seeming despair. Her tone so sure and certain in the past was now hesitant and weak.

"Helga has done all she can for me. She and I fear the worst and I must resign myself to the inevitable. The strain, yes, I feel it as bands wrapped about me constraining my energy and will. Just ... just a bit longer, I must last."

Dumbledore heard the movement of parchment and quill. "Of the three, two are placed. The last and most vital marker must be concealed yet obvious. Where, oh where to put it?"

A sound of a door opening was heard then footfalls light and sharp. The next voice belonging to a woman was new to Dumbledore.

"Rowena, here is some tea. Cease and move away from that desk. You are not getting the rest I prescribed."

"I cannot rest, not yet, Helga. I see by your face that the news is not good."

"The boy has been found. He had hung himself in the forest."

"Dear Craddock, he was most promising. And Godric?"

"Heartbroken. He would take an axe to that cursed desk if he could. I would aid him without hesitation. Why do we simply not bury it deep somewhere and forget its very existence."

"We cannot. It must stay here ... for as long as necessary."

"It's lure is too dangerous. It calls to the young minds and hearts of our students. We know naught of its work until it is too late."

"It is temptation incarnate. I will not argue with you on that. But its power must be used. We have proven that it can be ... be useful."

Helga swore then said. "You and Salazar I do not understand your so called logic. It is plain the harm that is laid before any foolish enough to seek its empty promises. We must protect our students first and foremost."

"And we have." said Rowena hotly. Her voice sounded a little stronger, a little more urgent. "But we cannot rule the will of the individual. Craddock and the others sought it though we forbid it and explained the consequences fully."

"We should have been more watchful nonetheless. Four students lost to us."

"Life is harsh. Tis better that the young learn that lesson early. We cannot ... will not ... be about to watch and decide for them what course of action is best. They must learn and so must we."

"I do not agree but your mind is set. And I must bow to the needs of the many, not the few." Helga Hufflepuff sighed. "Salazar informs me that his new spells and wards are nearly complete."

"Good. Once the desk is moved to the new tower we shall employ his new wards."

"We three will place the wards. You, on the other hand, need to be in bed. Now. Take my arm."

"Oh, Helga, I ... I ..."

"How will you have strenght to impart your bequest and duty to the new seer if you exhaust yourself so?"

"Very well, if I rest shall you desist your ... your coddling!"

The long ago voices faded.

Once more Dumbledore was left speechless. He was absolutely certain that somehow Rowena and perhaps Salazar had used the desk in some manner. A pernicious niggling suspicion writhed in his brain of a connection between the prophecy and the desk. But what was it?

A/N: Ah, have been freed from the shackles of two jobs and much stress. As some readers have already sensed there is more to the desk than meets the eye. Markers? Seems like Albus may have a scavenger hunt on his hands. In the meantime, Minerva and Irma reach the ruins and ...


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Two brooms whistled through the inky darkness leaving behind a vaporous trail. They dipped and dived avoiding clouds and the sharp shafts of moonlight that could betray their presence. With cloaks streaming behind them and firm grips on their broom handles, Minerva and Irma made their way to Achnabreck at breakneck speeds.

Irma relaxed her grip a tiny bit. The broom was surprisingly stable. She hardly felt the buffeting effects of the crosswinds and updrafts. Her feet and stomach had been too fond of solid earth for her to have enjoyed casually flinging herself through the air. Now, with some confidence and a secure broom, she relished the experience. _This model is going to be a bestseller. I wonder if Minerva can get me a discount. _

Minerva looked front, then back then sideways automatically searching for unwanted followers. _Old habits die hard._ Adrenaline coursed through her. She hardly felt the chill blanketing her on all sides. Her mind reviewed all they had uncovered about the quest. Subconsciously, she began to sing under her breath. _Fly me to the moon. And let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars. In other words hold my hand. In other words darling kiss me._

Irma turned her head. "What was that, Minerva?"

"Hmmm?"

"You were singing something."

"Oh, that. It's just an old reflex." Minerva smiled. "A sort of routine I learned to settle my mind ... relax."

Irma replied. "It was important work what you did. Why do you sound dimissive of it?"

"I don't mean to. I did love it, Irma." Minerva said. "Before the Ministry annexed it."

"I thought that its primary charter was left unchanged. "

"It still is the primary department charged with finding adult emergent wizards and witches but now there's a lot more bureaucracy."

Irma laughed. "Ah, now I see why Albus gave up full involvement in it. He did start it, didn't he?"

"It was one of his pet projects just before he became headmaster. He always said that it wasn't enough to help the children. Those of legal age are even more at risk." Minerva said. "It is horrific to suddenly find yourself with abilities that terrify you. That could cause such pain. It was our ... his objective to find them and help them before they could do harm."

"I wanted to apply to the Emergent Corp once upon a time."

"You would have been more than qualified to apply."

"Well, yes, but, Minerva, only one percent of one percent of applicants are accepted. That's a rather intimidating statistic."

"That's not on purpose. It just happens to fall to that." Minerva said. "You should have applied."

"It was a flight of fancy nothing more. Besides, I'm hardly the type. I'm not ... not action-oriented like you."

"Now who is being dismissive."

"I'm being realistic. I don't know if I could react, think and do all at the same time especially in a high stress situation. And I'm not a master in any magical discipline either."

"Irma, you're one of the finest restoration experts in the world. And don't deny it!"

Irma huffed. "It's not a talent. It's been the family business for generations. I don't know anything else but that."

"That may be but you do it flawlessly. And while you are not a master you do employ all the disciplines in the course of your work to a degree that is far from average." Minerva scanned their surroundings again. "You do realize that working at Hogwarts qualifies as a nine-month marathon of crises amid adolescent angst and rebellion."

Irma chuckled. "Is that why you chose to work at Hogwarts then? The excitement and drama?"

"Hogwarts was only supposed to be temporary until I thought of what I wanted to do next. Somehow one year became two then three."

"And are you still deciding what you want?"

It was a full minute before Minerva replied quietly. "I believe I've found what I want."

Minerva's tone hinted that any further inquiries were not welcome. Irma took the hint and gave Minerva some privacy. The librarian began to recite Juliana's epitaph to herself to pass the time.

_  
In this hard earth of Alba,  
She lays warm, favored by the Lady of the Shores,  
Loving mother, loyal wife, warrior true. _

Enlightenment awaits.  
You guardians of fate, wielders of light.  
Speak caution, gaidheal, say truth.

The way is her doing, her right,  
By blood, by birthright, by gift,  
Cloaked in mists of far memory, shadows, dreams.

Be warned, destroyers of destiny,  
The hands of protection and the portals of death,  
For they guard her rest, her wending way.

The two witches glided down into a clearing a short distance from the actual site. They did nothing for several minutes getting their bearings and letting their senses acclimate. With wands out, they began walking out of the clearing. A tall metal mesh fenced was an unexpected obstacle.

"Let's just fly over it," Irma suggested.

"No, wait." Minerva picked up a twig and a rock. She tossed the rock straight at the fence. The rock went through a gap in the mesh. "It's not electrified. Good." The twig was tossed over the top of the fence. It landed on the ground on the other side. Minerva held up a hand while she looked around as if waiting for something. Then she nodded to Irma. "Nothing at the top or alarms on the ground. Let's fly over."

"I did not realize you were so familiar with muggle fences."

"I've had to navigate a few in order to find emergents who did not want to be found. I've learned to be cautious."

They trekked across a meadow. Along the way they stopped at various outcroppings. Some were marked with figures and some were not. To their dismay they found that the symbol they had discovered was a very common glyph. They spent precious time examining and testing each pillar.

Minerva shook her head. "I don't think these are what we want. They're too ... too commonplace. I count at least 3 of these same rock formations in the far left and two more on the right. The grave marker in Kilmartin was the only one with a Templar galley on it. We need something unique or unusual. "

Irma pored over the photographs and maps of Achnabreck. "The major excavation sites are over there. Past that hill."

CRACK!

In one smooth movement, Minerva extinguished her wand, crouched low and motioned Irma to do the same. It might have been only a twig snapping but in that time and place it echoed like a gunshot.

The witches bent low back to back with eyes staring into the darkness. It was well past midnight and there should not have been anyone about. Minerva concentrated her senses scanning and listening for a few minutes. She heard only the rustlng of grass and trees swayed by the wind. Satisfied that they were unobserved, Minerva ignited her wand once more. "Let's keep going. We don't have all night."

As they crested the hill, a vast expanse of gray came into view. It looked like someone had arranged an enormous slab of granite flat in the middle of the field. Their steps quickened. As they neared they could see that what they had thought was one continuous sheet of rock was really three sections. They stood poised peering at three enormous sections of flat rock covered with ringed cup engravings very much like the symbol they were intent on matching.

"Minerva, this is the largest artifact here. This has to be it."

"I shall take the left, Irma."

"And the right for me. Good hunting."

They circled the rock faces. It turned out that hundreds of figures were engraved on the rocks. Many of them with a similar spiral or circle pattern. They cast several spells in turn expecting to find the same kind of message they had found in Kilimartin. They would be disappointed.

"Reveal spells show nothing." Minerva made another circuit of the rocks.

Irma sighed. "And no hidden crypts underneath. I even checked for disillusionment charms."

"We haven't tested the figures in the middle. Shall I?" Minerva asked.

"It's worth a try."

Minerva transformed into a cat and jumped on to the rock faces. She passed a paw over each symbol as she made her way across the rock face. Thirty-five minutes later and still nothing. Minerva transformed with her frustration more than evident. "This is the right place but what are we missing?"

Irma leaned between two slabs. With her index finger she traced one of the circular cup figures. "Ought to be something simple. Something that someone in that time period could do."

As Irma finished talking a burst of purple sparks sparkled from underneath her finger. To their amazement, one by one other symbols across the rock face began to flash on and off in irridescent blues and reds like fireflies dancing in the air. Irma lifted her finger. As she did so all the lights faded and their surroundings were plunged back into darkness.

"Hand of protection methinks."

"Enlightenment awaits, indeed." said Minerva. She eyed the rock with new respect.

Irma placed her hand over the symbol and was rewarded with the same series of glowing figures. They waited and waited barely breathing. Seconds ticked into a full minute. One minute became several minutes. "Any suggestions, Minerva?"

"Not at the moment." Minerva said. "The poem, it's in the poem ... has to be." She began to recite the poem.

The lights began to glow brighter. Irma cried out. "Ow! It's starting to sting."

"Enlightenment awaits -"

"Minerva! My hand is burning. I can't pull free!"

"You guardians of fate, wielders of light, speak caution, gaidheal, say truth." Minerva;s gaze went from the rock to Irma's hand and back to the rock. Then she covered Irma's hand with her right hand.

"What are you doing!?" Irma asked.

"Firinn, firinn," Minerva repeated the word several times varying her speed, emphasis and pitch. "FIR-inn, FIRN, fi-RINN, fir-rin."

"We'll both be stuck!"

The light escalated to a near blinding white light. Minerva and Irma pulled at their hands trying to free them from the rock and each other. They could not. Their hands felt fused together. Daggers of heat shot from their palms upwards to their shoulders.

"Firrin is truth in gaelic. Say it with me, Irma!" Minerva yelled. "Fir-RIN, fir-RIN !"

In unison, they repeated the words in a sing song cadence. Heat swept throught their bodies. Their knees nearly buckled underneath them for the pain. But still they chanted. "Fir-RIN, fir-RIN !"

Minerva's left hand fumbled for the locket. But too late. She felf the ground give way beneath them. They began to sink into the earth. Feet. Ankles. Knees. She became aware of a sensation that grew steadily more familiar with every passing second.

By the expression on Irma's face she knew what it was too. "Portkey!"

* * *

Author's Note: Our sleuths are definitely on the "wending way" now. Next stop is ... 

I wonder if the druids had the power to create a portkey? If not, who and why?

To clarify, the markers mentioned in past chapters refer to Rowena's prophecy. The word marker doesn't mean an actual marker like a grave stone. I'll make that clearer in a future edit. Godric's journal entry is one marker out of three. What or who are the other two? While the ladies attempt to remain a few steps ahead of trouble, Albus has his own hunt for the markers to worry about. Oh, the desk! The thing is very persistent and nags me for its own chapter.

Enjoy!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The first thing she became aware of was her own breathing. It was deep and measured as it would be when one first awakens from a long night's slumber. Instead of the warmth and comfort of a thick quilt, a sharp chill clawed at her skin while her back pressed down on hard earth. In growing awareness, her fingers scrabbled over loose pebbles and dirt. With eyes still closed, Irma let out a groan.

"Feels like Firewhisky's Revenge doesn't it?" Minerva said beside her sounding equally unsteady.

"Times ten, at least." Irma took a quick self inventory. All her body parts seemed intact if very sore. "Someone told me once how uneventful working at a school would be. Ha!"

"Get your bearings first. Watch the nausea." Sitting up, Minerva peered into the dark. Her ears strained to hear what sounds she could. The sounds of the forest night were the only sounds she could hear. "If the nausea and tiredness is anything to go by we just went through a powerful portkey."

Heeding Minerva's warning, Irma did not bother sitting up just yet. "I feel like someone trampled by a herd of thestrals. How long were we unconscious?"

"Hmm, not long maybe a half hour."

Irma rubbed her eyes then opened them. "Minerva, I see stars."

Minerva chuckled as she herself slowly got to her feet. Whatever doubts she may have had for Irma's reactions to extreme stress were set aside. Irma was not inclined to panic. "And what do they tell you?"

"That we are not in Kilmartin any longer. The constellations are in a different perspective."

Minerva shook the dirt off her cloak. She looked around holding her wand aloft like a torch. She whispered "Lumos."

They were in a small clearing surrounded by towering trees. Shafts of moonlight cast shadows against the tree trunks and the earth.

"Wait here a bit. I need to see above the treeline and find out where we are." Minerva pulled her shrunken broom from her pocket and enlarged it. She drifted skyward wand at the ready.

Minerva found herself hovering above a sprawling dense forest running alongside a calm river. By the height and size of the trees it was a very old forest. To the north by the river she could see the roof of a house. She saw no other signs of habitation close by. They were not in a residential neighborhood then. She looked to the far horizon for landmarks. The southern direction seemed to glow with light. Perhaps that way lay a city. It was not enough information to determine their true location but with the moon bright a riskier reconnaisance was out of the question.

"Definitely not Kilmartin," Minerva said to herself.

"Minerva!" Irma exclaimed. "Come down, quickly! Quickly!"

Minerva looked down. Her pulse quickened at what she saw happening around Irma. She dived then hovered above the ground beside Irma. At their feet and around them in concentric circles, words formed letter by letter in fiery red script.

Just as the last letter appeared the letters began to fade in the order they appeared. The witches turned around several times mouthing the words frantically committing the message to memory before it disappeared entirely.

"Could it possibly be more cryptic," Minerva remarked. "I was expecting Gaelic not French."

On one knee, Irma felt the ground where the last letter disappeared. Her fingers tingled encountering the telltale sign of strong magic. Experienced in recognizing the signatures of spells by the times and styles of their creation, her eyes narrowed. In the course of her restoration work knowing the time period when a particular spell or charm was employed upon an object served as the first indication on how best to continue with the object's restoration. And sometimes it provided an unexpected insight into the object or the owner. At this moment she was confused. "Yes, I was expecting Gaelic, too. And, Minerva, this has a different signature than the others."

"What do you mean?"

"The spells on the grave marker and the stone slab at Achabreck were the same. I mean that they felt that they were cast in the same time period probably by the same person. But this ..." Irma gestured on the ground "This feels very different. I can only describe it as a different style."

"Another person? Perhaps Andre de Sauvignon had an accomplice." Minerva posited.

"De Sauvignon's spells and charms were cast about the late 1200s. This one was done in the late 1300s."

"You can be that precise?"

"A hundred years difference is hardly precise, Minerva." Irma scoffed. "I've handled books and parchments that old. I can determine the rough age by comparison and, well experience."

"And the style? Was this one done by a more powerful wizard or witch?" Minerva's initial impression when watching the scripting was a generally high level of magical power and skill.

"More sophisticated I think rather than stronger. There's a certain finesse about this one." Irma continued. "Unlike the slab which needed someone to touch it and say a specific word this one is more discerning. I believe its triggered by light of magical origin. Lumos!"

A minute after the spell was cast letters began to appear. While Irma read the words again, Minerva eyed the sky. It would be dawn soon. She retrieved and enlarged Irma's broom. "We can't stay here. We're too exposed." She handed the broom to Irma. "There were indications of a house or building nearby. We can plead to be lost travelers I suppose and obliviate any muggles in the morning."

"Minerva, wait. We have a problem," Irma said. "The phrase isn't the same as before.'

Minerva cast her companion an incredulous look. "What!?"

Irma explained. "The first and second lines are not the same. The word Baphomet was not mentioned in the first set. A word like that tends to be memorable."

Minerva cast another lumos spell. Both witches watched intently as words appeared yet again around them. This time it was she who grew alarmed. "That's different, too. The first line of the first set ends with the words 'Rivers End' and this one ... this one mentions 'a wending astray' or something."

Irma tapped her chin and said. "Curiouser and curiouser."

"Irma, you're hiding your concern very well," Minerva remarked dryly.

"You like strategy and delving into myteries. I like puzzles." Irma grinned. "This one is very challenging. Let's see if there are any more stanzas shall we. Lumos!"

As before, letters glowed and coiled around them on the ground. This time both ladies read and memorized.

"Ah, this is the first stanza. That's certain."

Minerva cast the next required light spell and the second stanza appeared. Irma did the honors to reveal the third and final stanza.

With the three stanzas secured if not completely deciphered, the witches followed the river towards the house Minerva had spied earlier. Wands out, they scuttled across a small bridge to the darkened building. As they got closer, they could see that it was not a home but a commercial building. Boarded up windows and doors spoke of disuse and abandonment. A sign hung that read "Parson and Sons Throop Flour Mill."

With some small measure of relief, Minerva deftly removed the boards barring entry into a door at the rear of the building. Inside they found dusty equipment that spoke well of a mill of some prosperity in its time. Minerva set up some wards inside and outside of the building to alert her of encroaching people. Irma transfigured two antique chairs into cots and set a small light flickering in a small lantern on a work table.

Irma scavenged inside her large purse for anything edible. Half of a raspberry bun was halved again. "It's not a feast but it will do."

Minerva climbed down the stairs from the second floor. She held a burlap sack in one hand. "The mill is completely empty. We should be safe here until morning. And I know where we are." Minerva unfurled the sack on the table and said the words out loud. "Parsons Mill, Throop - Dorset."

"Dorset. We could hardly get farther from Scotland and still be on English soil." Irma nibbled on her bun. She laid open her notebook and began to write the stanzas from memory.

Minerva looked over and added what she could. The three stanzas translated to:

_Let not wisdom fail at Rivers End,_

_O'er dark and light, see true._

_Brother Sion do thy duty well._

_Let not Baphomet cross the path_

_O'er fear and valor, feel true._

_Brother Sion do thy duty well._

_Let not her wending stray and darken_

_O'er chance and fate, be true._

_Brother Sion do thy duty well._

"Well, it's like an instruction and a warning put together." Irma said. "Sion is synonymous with the city of Jerusalem. Brother Jerusalem? Or is Sion used as a last name?"

"It could mean brother as in a monastic order and Sion indicates that it's a religious order of some kind. Perhaps, it's a title of respect." Minerva thought out loud. "While Jerusalem is a possible link to the Templars, there is nothing druidic or celtic in this message unlike the earlier piece. What or who is Baphomet?"

'I believe it's a bastardization of Mohammed who is also known as Mahomet. I don't know anything else beyond that. Is Juliana buried in Jerusalem?"

"That trip would go beyond our 4 day, now 3 day limit." Minerva smiled then turned quite serious. "Irma, remember the lines from the first message about hands of protection and portals of death?"

"Yes."

"This second message makes it very clear to me that the way is guarded by sentinels of a sort. Sentinels that have kept watch, done their duty, through many centuries.

"You sound worried, Minerva."

"Uneasy. Before today I took the words "portals of death" to be allegorical but I find that I am of a vastly different opinion now."

"We were aware of possible dangers, Minerva."

"Dangers, yes, but not ... not lethality. I think these sentinels can be very deadly. The words portals of death is no allegory." Minerva paced back and forth. "The effort of maintaining secrecy is obvious and given the lenght of time, I can only surmise that the sentinels will do anything to maintain that secrecy."

"Including killing anyone who poses a danger," Irma said quietly.

Minerva nodded. "This adventure of ours has a sense of layers to it. It is as if we are seeing only a part of the larger plan."

"I agree. I will also say that it seems we are following a very carefully crafted path."

"Yes, exactly. Whomever made this plan had a definite purpose. Given Albus' own misgivings about this quest and now my own I cannot help but question whether we are doing the right thing."

"Now of that I am quite sure that we are doing the right thing." Irma smiled broadly. "I had said that I could put a time period to spells and charms via comparison. Well, I can also tell who cast the spell or charm if I had some familiarity with other charms and spells done by that person. I was confused earlier about what I was sensing from the second message."

"And you are no longer confused?" Minerva looked at Irma intently.

"The second message was charmed by none other than Godric Gryffindor."

"What!? You cannot be serious."

"Deadly serious. I know all the founders' signature styles having studied their bequests and objects all these years. The signature on the message is the same as that on the Sword of Gryffindor. I know that message was done by Godric. I don't know how or why but that message was his as good as if he had written it on parchment."

"You said late 1300s and Godrid died in ... wait, wait ... a time turner. The baron's time turner. Godric went forward in time." Minerva said.

"Can we presume by this that the founders had a hand in devising the sentinels guarding Juliana?"

"Yes." Minerva yawned and sat on her cot. Irma extinguished the lantern light. "How I wish I had the Baron to question right now."

"I'm wishing for a library. I'm itching for some research."

"All right. We'll look for a library tomorrow."

Irma fluffed her pillow. "Minerva, do you think we ought to send word to Albus on our progress tomorrow?"

"Albus is an executive. He may not appreciate the details."

"Details like the portals of death, the sentinels, the fact that a primitive portkey drained us of enough magical energy to make us pass out or that we know not where we truly are."

"He would worry."

"And probably come after us."

"That is one complication we do not need." Minerva turned over. "Good night, Irma."

"Tomorrow is another day. Good night."

--

Okay, I've resumed this story. I hope this chapter shows how things are starting to tie together. Also, I wanted to make Irma more 3 dimensional, equal to Minerva but different. Per the HP Lexicon, the founders lived in the 900s. So 1300 would be a trip forward.

Throop Mill in Dorset is real. And it is to this day abandoned and on its way to be preserved. It does lie on the River Stour and surrounded by a nature conservancy. There has been a mill at the location since 1086. Around Throop one can find several interesting places for our intrepid adventurers to go to.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

If Throop Mill lacked inhabitants it was not lacking for neighbors as Minerva and Irma discovered when they awoke. Outside, nature was generous from the white swans drifting through the reeds to the tit marshes, robins and finches that flitted and sang in the trees. Floating over descending gushing waters, hardy mallards paddled fearlessly through the long-rusted turbines arranged in a horizontal row across the river. This pleasant nature-filled morning was a well-deserved antidote to the dramatic happenings of the night before.

Standing on the rough deck in the mill's rear overlooking the river, the two witches felt refreshed despite their late night. Minerva transfigured two rotting wood barrels into serviceable chairs.

"I dreamt of my comfortable rooms at Hogwarts last night, a toasty coverlet, inviting pillows, a warm fire," Irma mused stretching her arms out and releasing a single long yawn.

"Is that an oblique way of saying that we're too old for adventuring?" Minerva crouched on the deck running a hand into the water testing temperature and speed of flow. In the full glare of daylight, her eyes scanned the river bank, the running river and the surrounding forests missing little.

"Not at all. However, I have learned my lesson. I assure you that in future my purse shall be well-stocked with creature comforts." Irma laid out her notebook on her lap, opened to a blank page and began to write.

Minerva stood up arching her back working some kinks out. "Some basic supplies may be advantageous."

"Perhaps we shall find ourselves in Ireland before this quest is completed. We must buy tea at least and maybe biscuits for emergency rations." Irma duly added said items to her list.

Minerva looked up at the sun not quite at its zenith yet but midway in the sky. "Midmorning already. We overslept but no help for that I suppose. How are you feeling?"

"I need coffee then I can tell you how I feel. You're looking quite energetic on very few hours of sleep. How do you manage? I feel wrecked."

"Practice, Irma. My house seems to attract the mischief makers. Interrupted evenings and unexpected emergencies in the night are almost routine." Minerva sat down in a chair and looked out over the river.

"Where do the children get the energy from?"

Minerva laughed then sobered. "I was thinking of our progress last night. I know I said last night that I was worried but now I am less so. What we're doing feels right. I can't explain why. It simply does. I feel like a marionette on a string being led across a stage."

"Hmm, yes, I'm terrified I admit but eager just the same." Irma turned her book to the page where she had written the translation. "Shall we plan our next move?" They quickly read the translation.

Let not wisdom fail at Rivers End,

O'er dark and light, see true.

Brother Sion do thy duty well.

Let not Baphomet cross the path

O'er fear and valor, feel true.

Brother Sion do thy duty well.

Let not her wending stray and darken

O'er chance and fate, be true.

Brother Sion do thy duty well.

"The first mentions or points to a location. A location that we must be at or close to." Minerva gestured to the river. "How convenient that we appeared close to one."

"The quest cannot be made impossible, can it?"

"No, not impossible merely difficult, very difficult. We will follow this river until it ends or joins another. I believe I spied a city or town to the south lying by the river." She pointed at the translation. "Brother Sion has to be important to be mentioned as often as he is. To me, Brother Sion suggests a person, a monk, a monastery, religion, a Templar, a man not a female. We need to look for appropriate associations."

"Dark and light, fear and valor, chance and fate," Irma said softly. "Two sides. A positive and a negative. True or false. And Baphomet is the reverse of Mohammed - the negative version - as in the destroyers of fate against the wielders of light."

"And Brother Sion is the sentinel we must pass." Minerva concluded.

After erasing any sign of their presence from the mill, the two witches disillusioned themselves and took to the skies cloaks flapping wildly behind them. As they streaked towards the southern city mirroring the river's flow, they took careful note of the landscape passing below them. A passing sign gave them the name of the river : Stour.

Minerva pointed to the distance. "Irma, look there, to the east, another river. And further along they join."

Irma nodded. "They would have to have used clues that would not change over time. Geographic landmarks are rather permanent."

Minerva rose upward a few meters to gain a wider vantage point. "Lo and behold, the rivers do end in the city."

#

With renewed energy and purpose, they increased their speed till the winds roared in their ears. Signs of habitation grew more obvious as they neared the river's end. As they approached the city the landmark foremost in their sight was the tall belltower of a magnificent Norman church. They alighted in a narrow alleyway not far from the church. They changed their clothing to nondescript blouses, skirts and overcoats. As they got closer to the church they spied the sign. It read "Christchurch Priory Church."

"House of worship, monastery and priory are synonymous." Minerva studied the entrance plaque. "They open at half past nine o'clock."

"Good. We have enough time for breakfast and coffee. And I believe, yes, I've spotted a shop over there." Without waiting for reply Irma crossed the wide church square and down into narrow Church Street.

They entered the Priory 17 cafe restaurant which fortunate for them did indeed have a breakfast service. Minerva ordered smoked salmon on a muffin with cream cheese and tea. Irma ordered a very large meal - two rashers of bacon, two sausages, two eggs, baked beans, mushrooms, hash browns, granary toast and a carafe of coffee.

At Minerva's incredulous look, Irma whispered sotto voce, "Supplies, Minerva, for later. If things prove to form, we will not have another restful meal today."

Minerva smiled. "Excellent thinking. That should serve even if we end up in Ireland."

Their waiter Teddy settled a carafe of coffee on the table. "Morning, ladies, from where would you be visiting from?"

"Are we that obvious?" Irma asked.

"Well, you're not one of my regulars. That much I know. You would hail from …?"

"Scotland," answered Minerva.

"Ah, are you Templar scholars?" asked Teddy.

Irma looked at Teddy closely. "Why do you say that?"

"We get a fair amount of Templar scholars coming here from Roslyn Chapel. They hear about our knight you see."

"Your knight?"

"Oh, yes, Sir Stephen, the last true Templar in Britain." Teddy poured hot tea into Minerva's cup. "His remains were found in the priory church some years back and his gravestone is on display in the church museum."

Unfortunately, Teddy could not provide further information about the Templar. After devouring breakfast, Irma and Minerva practically ran back to Christchurch. At the church entrance they were met by a gaunt but cheerful volunteer named Simon. Being informed of their interest in Sir Stephen, Simon guided them to the museum situated in the upper loft talking all the while.

"The gravestone of our Templar, namely one Sir Stephen de Stapelbrugge, is situated in the Priory Loft. The loft was once the Lady's Chapel and, very mysteriously, it was not available for use by the clergy. It's true purpose has been lost historically." Simon gestured the ladies to precede him up the spiral staircase.

"You're very well versed." Irma said.

"We do our best to meet the research needs of scholars and visitors here at Christchurch."

"We shall keep that in mind, Simon." Minerva replied. The attention she spared to Simon was inversely proportional to the attention she was receiving from him. With sure-footed grace, Minerva ascended the steps as they wound their way upward.

"Do you have further plans for other sites to visit?"

"Our plans are rather fluid, Simon." Irma breathed deeply a few times to stave off an attack of vertigo the higher she climbed on the heels of Minerva's rapid ascent.

"I am entirely at your disposal if you should need a guide to the area I mean."

"How … how very thoughtful of you."

"Few tourists ascend the stairs as surely and fearlessly as you do, Minerva." Getting no response, Simon cleared his throat loudly. "Seventy-five steps in all. I suppose then that you must be quite fit."

"Quite," Minerva replied.

"If I may ask, what other sites had you in mind to visit?"

"We're not at all familiar with the area." Irma murmured.

"Then I'm your man!" Simon announced.

"We would not want to impose." Minerva added firmly as she reached the topmost step.

Simon led them directly to the opposite side of the loft. "The grave slab was found in the crypts underneath Christchurch. Research led to its matching to a tomb in the south wall. The south wall cemetery is the oldest in the area dating as far as the 12th century and was designated for monks and clergy for the most part. The tomb was excavated and the results were rather startling."

"How so?" Minerva looked at him with genuine interest.

Simon smiled back. "The skeleton in the matching tomb was not what one would expect of a monk. It was of a man over six feet tall with a broad, muscular build. More a warrior than a man of the cloth."

"A Templar knight?" Irma asked. "But were not all Templars rounded up in 1307 by decree no less?"

"Yes, that was decreed by King Philip of France along with forfeiture to the crown of all Templar assets in France. The Templars scattered. One of the last places they were rumored to be were here and in Roslyn." Simon stopped by a long shelf upon which lay a gravestone with an incised cross upon it. "This slab is believed to be engraved with the mark of Sir Stephen."

As Simon continued to speak, Irma and Minerva studied the slab and the faint but still legible engravings on its surface.

"Sir Stephen arrived here in 1319 nearly twelve years after the dissolution of the Templar order. His very survival of the purge is astonishing. Templars were labelled and judged as heretics and put to death by fire or sword. Sir Stephen was arrested in 1311 and was sent to serve in a St. Augustinian priory in Surrey. Two years later he escaped with another Templar and was recaptured in Salisbury resulting in another five years incarceration."

"How then did Sir Stephen come to be buried here?" Minerva sharp eyes found a familiar shape in the slab - seven concentric circles similar to the circles of Achanabrek. A sidelong glance at Irma confirmed that she had seen it too.

Simon droned on. "By 1312 a new Pope, Clement, came to power. He formally dissolved the Templar order but did not believe in its guilt. Any surviving Templars were jailed but no longer subject to inquisitorial torture. In 1318, Pope John XXII decreed that all Templars be given a choice of order to enter into be it as brother monks or staff lodgers. Sir Stephen was ordained an Augustinian novice at Braemore Priory in 1319 and then moved here. "

"Was that very usual? To be ordained in one place and then transferred?" Minerva asked.

"Not at all. We have deduced that in Sir Stephen's case his ordination was probably done in its manner to avoid publicity. Christchurch was even then a very visible priory. Perhaps the induction of Templar was deemed unfit for so public a place."

"But if the order was dissolved of what importance could there have been?" Irma asked.

"Based on research, we believe that Sir Stephen was a form of kept witness. He was quite young for a Templar having been ordained while still a child. Another unusual item in his personal history. And it would seem that he was aware of or witness to Templar business of interest to the King. His survival on the run from 1311 to 1313 hint at resourcefulness and means. Though born in France, his paternal family hailed from this area and he had relatives in positions of authority in the Church."

"Sir Stephen seems to have lived an interesting if mysterious life." Minerva pondered.

Before he could respond, Simon was waylaid by another curator and excused himself.

Minerva whispered. "Take a closer look at that slab while I distract Simon."

"That should not be too hard, Minerva. He's got his eye on you."

Minerva rolled her eyes heavenward. "You have an overactive imagination."

"He seems a good conversationalist. Very charming in a quiet intellectual way."

"Desist this line of conjecture." Minerva glared at her companion.

"You match well enough. Him being a few inches taller and slender."

"Immediately!" Minerva pursed her lips. "He's hardly my ... my type."

Her curiosity piqued, Irma asked a rather daring question. "And what or who IS your type, if I may ask."

"You may not ask. Now go on and look at that slab will you." Minerva bustled off to Simon and made to guide him to the opposite side of the loft.

Mentally, Irma filed away the few new tidbits of information about Minerva that had just landed in her figurative lap. The head of Gryffindor had inadvertently answered the question. She had not indicated any specific person but her indirect response was not an outright denial either. Minerva had a definite type. Irma, though she was not wont to gossip overmuch, was aware of the faculty speculations about Minerva's personal life or rather the vagueness of said personal life. Minerva was not a social hermit but no one on staff had ever known her to have a serious beau. Was that because there was no one or rather that there was no one Minerva cared to name?

After one last look to make sure that Simon was too far away to see what she was doing, Irma cast a reveal spell on the slab starting at the top of the slab and moving downward. She reached the middle and the Achanabreck-like symbol glowed red once. An audible hum filled her ears like the buzzing of bees.

Standing by the display of Augustinian robes, Minerva plied Simon with leading questions. Her sensitive hearing picked up on the humming and her eyes swiveled towards Irma. She was turning to return to the slab when all the lights blinked off. In the shadowy dimness, Minerva saw Irma collapse to the floor like a rag doll.

###

A/N: Christchurch, the Priory cafe, the museum and Sir Stephen are all real places and figures. Sir Stephen's bio in the story mirrors history. Real life is certainly more interesting than fiction. Enjoy!


End file.
